Aktive Direkt Hilfe e.V.

I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons - something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels of musical ability. I've never had the pleasure of having a protégé, though I have taught some talented students.

However, I've also had my share of what I call “musically challenged” pupils. One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old when his mother, a single mom, dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby.

But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn.

Over the months he tried and tried, while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say, “My mom's going to hear me play someday.”

But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in.

Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons. I thought about calling him but assumed, because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!

Several weeks later I mailed to the students' homes a flyer on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify.

He said that his mom had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons, but he was still practicing. “Miss Hondorf, I've just got to play!” he insisted. I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence, or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be all right.

The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends, and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program, before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my “curtain closer.”

Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he had run an eggbeater through it. Why didn't he dress up like the other students? I thought. Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?

Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys; they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo, from allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by a person his age.

After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild applause. Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. “I've never heard you play like that, Robby! How'd you do it?”

Through the microphone Robby explained: “Well, Miss Hondorf, remember I told you my mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this morning. And, well,” he paused. “She was born deaf, so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special.”

There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy. I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.

No, I've never had a prodigy, but that night I became a protégé of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil. For it is he who taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance on someone when you don't know why.

We all have countless opportunities each day to help realize God's plan. So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass up that opportunity, and leave the world a bit colder in the process? Or do we pass along a spark of the divine?

“You say, ‘If I had a little more, I should be very satisfied.’ You make a mistake. If you are not content with what you have, you would not be satisfied if it were doubled.”— Charles Spurgeon

Speaker Bob Perks was at an airport when he overheard a father and daughter in their last moments together. They had announced her departure. Standing near the security gate, they hugged and he said, “I love you. I wish you enough.” She in turn said, “I wish you enough, too, Daddy.” They kissed and she left. He walked over toward the window where I was seated.…

I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, “Did you ever say goodbye to someone knowing it would be forever?”

“I am old and she lives much too far away. I have challenges ahead, and the reality is, the next trip back would be for my funeral,” he said.

“When you were saying goodbye I heard you say, ‘I wish you enough.’ May I ask what that means?”

He began to smile. “That’s a wish that has been handed down from other generations. … Then turning toward me, he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish enough “Hello’s” to get you through the final “Goodbye.”
My friends, I wish you enough! — Stories for Preaching

When you are discontent, you always want more, more, more. Your desire cannever be satisfied. But when you practice contentment, you can say to yourself, “Ohyes, I already have everything that I really need.”— Dalai Lama

Money can buy you a lot of nice things, but all the money in the world can’t buycontentment. — Mottos for Success

Philip Parham tells the story of a rich industrialist who was disturbed to find afisherman sitting lazily beside his boat.“Why aren’t you out there fishing?” he asked.“Because I’ve caught enough fish fortoday,” said the fisherman.“

Why don’t you catch more fish than you need?’ the rich man asked.“What would I do with them?”

“You could earn more money,” came the impatient reply, “and buy a better boatso you could go deeper and catch more fish.

You could purchase nylon nets, catcheven more fish, and make more money. Soon you’d have a fleet of boats and be richlike me.”The fisherman asked, “Then what would I do?”

“You could sit down and enjoy life,” said the industrialist.

“What do you think I’m doing now?” the fisherman replied, as he looked placidly out to sea.