In what seems like many lifetimes ago, I was a college student working toward a degree in vocal music. I learned how to round my vowels and breathe from my diaphragm. I learned the solfeg system and how to recognize half-diminished seventh chords. I modulated and transposed and notated. I practiced the harmonic minor scale, the pentatonic scale and the whole-tone scale. In my senior recital I sang Bach in English, Faure in French, and Puccini in Italian.

The music degree required two years of piano instruction. I had taken years of piano lessons as a youngster, even though I begged my parents to let me quit. I even went so far as to safety-pin notes to my mom and dad’s bedsheets so when they turned down the covers one night, they were faced with a barrage of petitions, such as “Please let me quit piano,” and “I hate piano lessons,” and “Just because my sister took piano lessons doesn’t mean I should have to.”

They did not give in.
And I’m so glad.

I had a fantastic piano teacher in college named Mrs. Grill. I never once was tempted to pin notes to her bedsheets. I didn’t want to quit taking lessons from her, even after graduation. She pushed me beyond what I thought were my limits—I was convinced I couldn’t play music with sharps. Flats were no problem, but sharps? No way. Until Mrs. Grill assigned me Canciones Y Danzas by Federico Mompou.

Not just one sharp, not two, not three, but four sharps. And I learned to play the piece! And memorize it! And perform it in a recital! Dear Mrs. Grill. I couldn’t have done it without her.

One of my goals for 2024 is to play Mompou’s “Song and Dance No. 5” once again. Right now, I’m stumbling and bumbling my way through it. Right hand alone, then left hand alone, then slowly together. I may never play it with the same confidence I had over 40 years ago. But then, I don’t have Mrs. Grill encouraging me every week.

I’m learning the joy of doing something just for the love of it—not to pass a class or fulfill requirements or even perform for an audience. Sometimes I still need to be pushed beyond what I think is possible. On the other side of practicing scales and finger exercises, there is delight.

The Psalmist said, “But his delight is in the law of the Lord and on His law he meditates day and night.” (Psalm 1:2) The disciplines of regular prayer and scripture reading can seem to drag on, but then suddenly, there are days when it is pure delight.

Don’t stop. Keep walking (and practicing) every day.