It was a cold Monday evening in December. A little girl, only six years old, and her mother walked along the narrow stone path which led from a square driveway to a little cottage in the woods. The little girl clutched a white three-ring binder and followed close behind her mother. The woman who greeted them brightly at the door had gray hair and tired eyes. She welcomed the two into her home, then started the girl’s first piano lesson...
...I do not have a desire, nor the skill, to be an accomplished pianist, or even musician of any type. I do not plan on continuing piano after high school regularly. I do know that if anyone ever asks me how I ended up doing missions work on the other side of the world, my answer will be that I started piano lessons in first grade. I do not know how the rest of my life will play out, but I do know that my Monday night piano lessons will have a huge impact on me.
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