See Something More

When I first started taking piano lessons, I had a beginner’s book filled with exercises. I would write the names of the notes, practice scales, and do all my homework so I could put another star sticker by my name on the great big chart in my piano teacher’s lesson room. In the beginning, I had to make myself practice every day for a certain amount of time. But thanks to all that practice the all those exercises, I learned to read music, understand basic theory, and improvise. But it was when I quit taking piano lessons that I really started to play. In fact, interestingly enough, I think I played more after I stopped taking lessons. In college, I would wander over to the music building where they had individual practice keyboards in small rooms, and even though I wasn’t a music major, I would reserve a room for a couple of hours and sit in there and play and sing all by myself. Instead of playing classical and jazz, I learned to play hymns and contemporary worship music. Playin

We sat atop Pinnacle mountain at 7:02 am in quiet, holy anticipation. The world was dark and still but thirty minutes ago, and over the course of our climb, we watched a glorious unfolding. Colors lightened the black sky. What was previously hidden came into contact with light, taking shape and form. One by one, morning birds awakened the silence with a new song. And in the space of one breath, the burning sun crept up boldly but quietly over their horizon. A Sunday sunrise. “There is something about the sunrise,” my friend whispered in a voice that echoed with awe and wonder. “And I don’t even know if I can put words to it.” “It feels like we are watching something sacred, even participating in it.” Wide open spaces. The stillness of the morning. The freshness of the air. The being awake while most of the world is still asleep. The beauty of such a brilliant sunrise that happens in silence, unannounced, like a glorious surprise intended just for those who pay attention. Doin