My story in song

You know how, in cartoons, the characters are running full speed ahead when they see something interesting and try to stop? You hear screeching and see dust billowing and watch as they hop-hop-hop on one foot while the upper torso tries to head in the other direction? Well, it was kind of like that.

I was moving quickly (running would be inaccurate, here) past an auditorium toward the lobby bathroom when something caught my attention. Wafting out of the auditorium were the familiar strains of a tune I know well. My peripheral vision picked up a sleek black shape on stage and two men studying it - one seated, one standing. Involuntarily, my body shifted directions and I froze in front of the open door, mesmerized. For a second, until I remembered where I was running. Or not running.

I returned to the lobby to hear pages 5...6...7... still being pretty flawlessly performed on a beautiful piano to an audience of none. And I thought: 'I can do that.'

I can play Rhapsody in Blue. All of it. I can tell you where on the page this part is happening or what's coming next. I can finger along with the music that's floating in the air. I can hum the orchestra part. Or at least I could. At one time.

At one time, I memorized and performed a 20-minute concerto, more than 30 pages of music. And not just any concerto. It was Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. You may remember it from the American Airlines commercials. I remember it because it is burned on my brain, and lingers in my finger memory. It's now filed away under "glory days."

Sitting in that lobby with strangers, I felt really special, like a celebrity in disguise. No one in that room knew my secret - that a long time ago this frumpy-feeling housewife crocheting in the corner stood on stage and took a bow after performing the awesomeness that they were listening to at that moment. So, naturally, I started wondering if I could still do it. And I started wondering what secrets the other people in the lobby were keeping...what were their stories? Were they concert pianists, too? Or maybe Olympic gold medalists? Or alligator wrestlers? Instantly, everyone in the room became people of interest.

Too often, I undervalue myself, or at least my gifts - and oddly, that's usually because I don't feel like I fit the physical mold of a successful, worthy South Floridian. My clothes are generally beat up and old, my body is carrying a little extra right now. I drive a mom-mobile and I get really excited about good deals. Oh, and I'm wearing a bulky mouthguard right now that is impairing my speech. (Think Gopher from Winnie the Pooh). But I know I'm not alone. How ridiculous it is for people, with these incredible stories and amazing hidden gifts, to have our identity so closely tied to our physical appearance? What must God think when I forget the fact that he gave me so very many abilities and whine about the body (and sense of style) that I didn't get?

I believe God put me in that lobby at that time to remind me of my story, and of who He made me to be. He put me there to remind me that everyone has a story, and story is so much more valuable than labels, price tags or clothing sizes. He has given each of us a gift - how much more fulfilling would our lives be if we developed those instead of chasing a flawed measure of success?

So I came home, and I tried to play Rhapsody. With a little fiddling, I got the first measure back - with the music, I'm sure I can do it all... but the point is that music is a part of my story, the secret that those closest to me know about. And those are the ones who help complete that story. If you're one of those people, thank you for the role you're playing!