What *Charlie* Taught Me

For a few years, I had two brothers who ram-bunctiously entered my studio each week where I teach piano. I would hear them as they charged up the stairs, fighting and shoving each other all the way up. They were big boys for their age, probably weighed as much as I do when they were only 7 or 8 years old. I sighed when I saw them coming. I kept an eye on the clock during each of their 30-minute lessons, where they back-talked, banged the keys, whined, threw their heads down on the piano....

you name it. I hate to say that I ever give up on any student, but I really felt like the most I was doing for these two boys was simply baby-sitting.

Eventually, the older boy dropped out, and I breathed a sigh of relief. To my surprise, his younger brother Charlie wanted to continue lessons. Really? Was there something about this he was actually enjoying?

So he continued coming, and I continued trying. I gradually noticed small shifts in his behavior---less tantrums and whining, more interest in his songs, even a few manners, occasional sweet smiles that melted me enough to think, “Hey, this boy can’t be all that bad.” I wondered if the improvement was due to his getting further up in elementary school and maturing a little. Perhaps it was also because he was the only one of his siblings taking lessons now, so this was his thing, not something he had to share with his brother or even compete. I felt sure the small improvements could not be attributed to anything I was doing.

He actually started showing an interest in music. He began coming to lessons with his songs somewhat prepared. He would sit down, open his book, and jump right in to playing, eager to show me what he’d learned. One day he asked me about purchasing a new book. His mom hadn’t sent him any money, but he pulled several one-dollar bills out of his pocket and said he would buy it with his own money. He stood politely at the front counter of the attached music store, waiting patiently to pay for his purchase.

Right before school ended for the summer, his mom sent me an email saying that Charlie would probably want to take a break from lessons through the summer months. So that last week in May, I said to him, “Hey, Charlie! I heard I won’t be seeing you for a while, so today will be your last lesson until school starts back.” He abruptly stopped what he was doing and looked at me with wide eyes. “But I want to keep coming,” he said softly.

That was a turning point in my attitude towards him too. I always try to show individual interest in every student. I know a lot of them will never grow up to be pianists. For some of them, it is just another extracurricular activity mandated by their parents. If nothing else, I feel like for 30 minutes, I can at least give a child my undivided attention and let that half hour be personally focused on him.

Now, when I think of Charlie, I’m always reminded that God doesn’t write us off, that he is always working, even when other people have given up on us. If other people think we will never accomplish something or never come out from under whatever has us buried, God knows how far he can bring us and doesn’t feel like he is wasting his time just baby-sitting.

I’m so glad now this student didn’t give up and quit when his brother did. I’m so glad I didn’t quit on him. Each week, I actually look forward to his arrival and can’t stop smiling at his eagerness to show me what he has learned since I last saw him.

Maybe God watches us with that same kind of pleasure, smiling as he observes all we have learned and how far he has brought us—glad we didn’t quit…and reminding us he never will.