Hello Hatters,
I’ve not written a blog in several weeks as I’m working on a personal writing project. It may be shared at some point, but I’m not sure yet. I’ll know when I’m done. In the meantime, I want to share a gem of a jam story with you.
Some 35 years ago, Country Hubby made arrangements to get me a piano. He found a place that sold second hand instruments, so we went there and chose a tall upright piano. We were poor in money, but rich in love. The generous owner of the piano understood our tight money situation and gave us terms for monthly payments. In two years, it was truly mine. It was delivered by special movers right after the selection process.
Any movement of a piano is difficult at best, if not impossible without the right equipment and help. The initial delivery took place without a problem, but when we moved a year later, it was the hardest task at hand. Lots of healthy and strong men helped us, so I played NO part in that move.
In the course of our marriage, many changes happened in our home including family members who moved in with us. I didn’t feel comfortable playing the piano in the living room because of resting elderly parents, so one day, I decided to move the piano into the master bedroom. It was about three walls away from my parents bedroom and they usually had their TV on, so I figured it would be a great solution.
Thus begins my story of miscalculations and overestimations of the monumental effort to move this treasure of music. My girls were middle school age and I had furniture movers, so without experience but with much confidence, we started the process.
We made it about 40 feet and got stuck in the door jam of the master bedroom.
Let me backup…. I didn’t want to ask Country Hubby for help for odd reasons. I had a history of hair brained ideas and I desperately wanted to take care of this one to prove I could do it. Dumb… I know.
We tried and tried to get the piano into the master bedroom before Country Hubby got home from work. My impetuous nature had gotten me in trouble again.
As 5:30 rolled around, I was waiting for him at the door. He knew something was up. I asked for understanding and help. I received much grace. Somehow, he made my wish come true. The piano was safely placed where I could play freely and at any time of the day or night. Beethoven was my preferred music at the time. Much emotion was expended as I played the various sonatas.
My precious Country Hubby had a singular focus when it came to my world. He wanted to give me his love and his support for whatever was my focus at the time. What a lovely man! He was a fixer. He was a lover. He was a listener.
Back to the piano…. As our world changed and we had the house back to ourselves. we had carpet replaced two years before Country Hubby passed away. The piano was moved back into the living room. Not by me, mind you. Not by me, ever again!
I’ve played my piano more lately. I’ve jammed out, I’ve worshipped, and I’ve found much solace in the way it makes me feel. I miss notes and it’s out of tune, but this beautiful instrument represents sacrifice, love, and understanding. In the decades that I’ve enjoyed this precious treasure, I’m reminded that these specific memories live to provide comfort in my heart. My heart… the place of all things tucked away for safe keeping.
I’m a writer who wears many hats just like you, and we all need balms for our soul. It can be a call from a friend or family member. It can be memories of a piano stuck in a door jam that was resolved. The hard part about memories for me is the realization that there are no more chances on this earth for new memories with my Country Hubby.
Grief is so unpredictable. Grief is heavy. However, wisdom reveals that everyone carries sorrows and wounds. We might not be able to fix these hurts, but we can offer each other our time and our tissues. Most of all, we should share the message from Jesus who said, “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28
He knows. In my faith walk, my best comfort is knowing He is here. I may not have pianos stuck in door jams, but I get pretty tangled in my own sorrows. It’s not pretty, but He is faithful to remind any of us of the Hope of our future. While we wait, let’s pursue our passions and get help when we hit a struggle. Metaphorically, then we can really jam ... together.
MT Penny