The Piano Story

"Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing so some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it." -Hebrews 13:2 NIV

It was the summer of 2006, and I was living in Des Moines, Iowa, with my roommate, Steph.  I was in charge of an at-risk program for youth; she worked part-time at a coffee shop in Ames, Iowa, about 35 miles outside of Des Moines.

She called me one day and told me about an old, upright piano that sat towards the back of the cafe.  Dusty and terribly out of tune, the owner announced that he was planning on pushing it out into the alley to see if anyone would take it.  "I know someone who might like it, " she said.

That someone was me.  I grew up playing the piano and studied seriously for twelve years.  After confirming that it only needed a good tuning, I told her I would love to have it.  It was hard for me to imagine receiving a piano for free.  "What's the catch?" I asked.  "The catch is that we have to figure out a way to get it from Ames to Des Moines," she responded.  Fair enough!

I quickly got to work on rounding up men I knew at my workplace.  Many of them were always willing to serve.  I talked to a few different ones over the span of a week, but nothing seemed to work out.  I spoke to Steph about it and told her I was at peace if I did not end up with the piano.  I didn't currently own one, so I wouldn't know the difference.

One morning while at work, I received a phone call.  It was Steph.  She told me, "Hey, Giana, I just want you to know that my parents and I are driving the piano to Des Moines right now.  Please pray that we can get it into our duplex."  I was completely humbled.  They were driving the piano all this way for me?  I said that yes, of course I would pray, and we agreed that if it did not fit they would drop it off at Goodwill.  I continued to be at peace about the whole situation and went right back to teaching.

A couple of hours later, Steph called again.  This time, she had different news:  "I'm so sorry, Giana.  We did everything we could do, but the piano didn't fit through the front door."  We lived on the bottom story of a duplex, and the front door opened up to a small hallway with three doors:  the door on the left for our duplex, the one across from it on the right leading to the basement, and the second door on the right that led to the duplex upstairs.  I understood why it was a hard space to maneuver.  I thanked her and told her to thank her parents—a teacher and a coach—from the bottom of my heart.  It meant so much to me that they would serve me in such a way.

Our Duplex

My heart was perfectly at peace, and with ten at-risk students to cater to, I went on with my day.  Shortly after lunch, I saw that I had a voicemail.  Once again, it was my roommate, saying, "Um, there's a surprise waiting for you in the living room when you get home.  Call me when you see it because I have the story of the century for you!"  Steph was not a dramatic person, and those were big words she had used.  My heart skipped a beat.

After pulling into our parking garage, I slowly walked up the backstairs to our home.  I didn't want to get too excited, but I knew what was waiting for me.  Opening the back door of the kitchen, I carefully put one foot in front of the other and peered into the living room.  There it was.  The old, mahogany upright piano that was now mine.  It looked so grand!

I immediately called Steph and asked her what happened.  "Well," she relayed, "on our way from Ames to Des Moines we were praying that the Lord would send us help.  We knew we weren't going to be able to move the piano by ourselves.  It's a monster.  Shortly after I talked to you, my dad was pulling away from our place and a random, black man asked if we needed help with the piano.  My dad said, 'Thank you so much for offering, sir, but we have already tried fitting the piano into the duplex and it's not going to work.'  The man responded, 'I don't mean to be a bother, but will you show me the space you were trying to fit it in?'  My dad agreed since we had not left yet.  The man said, 'Here's what we need to do.  We need to unhinge this front door and the door leading to the duplex, and prop the piano on it's side.  It's going to fit.  I move pianos for a living.'  I move pianos for a living?!  Who moves pianos for a living, Giana?!"  I could scarce believe my ears.

The Piano

"Someone wanted you to have that piano," Steph later told me.  "And if you ever move back to Texas, you're taking it with you."  And so I did.  I didn't realize that just a couple of years later, I would inherit another lovely piano.  But that is another story...

Reformed Anti-Gamer Girl

I was raised believing that video games were evil.  There was no point to them, and they only existed to kill my brain cells.  I never even owned a Game Boy.  The furthest extent of my experience was playing Super Mario on the original Nintendo at my cousin's house.

Enter my husband.  Gaming is a favorite pastime of his.  Our opposite backgrounds made for really interesting discussions our first couple of years of marriage.  I was convinced that I would never see any value in any sort of video game or gaming device.

I often refer to my spouse as a, "Techie Trekkie."  Though, technically, he is one of those rare breeds that enjoys both Star Wars and Star Trek.  I have always thought that he would make an excellent writer.  He is an incredible speaker and a voracious reader. His imagination is unlimited and I am convinced that he has a photographic memory.

There is one game in particular that he has played for about a year, Trexels.  It is a Star Trek game specifically for mobile devices, such as phones and tablets.  He is part of the Trexels Players Advocacy Council, a Facebook group that finds glitches and provides suggestions and new ideas.  After he shared ways to create a mission to explain a current glitch in the game, the designers (who are based in India) asked if he would add a little more content in order to make it a completely new system in Sector 10!

If you're anything like me, that last paragraph was a little hard to follow (and I wrote it)!  In simple terms, he created a whole new planet, Nooma (which is Greek--Pnuema, meaning spirit) and six events that take place on this planet following the parameters of the game (specifically, a couple of red alerts, an officer story, an exploration mission and a main event--the away mission where you beam down to the planet)!  And the best part?!  He was paid for it!

Once again, I find myself eating my words.  I am so proud of my mate!  He has officially written his first storyline for a video game!  And, surprisingly, I can't wait to play it! ;)

Word Power

The words you speak

Are heavy with blame

Like lava pouring forth from a volcano

They fall out of your mouth

Burning all in their pathway

The words you speak

Cut through the air

And linger with their strong stench

Hovering over shoulders like fog

Making the view distorted

The words you speak

Are forever etched in memory

And marked in spirits

Like scars

That will never leave

The words you speak

Drown the listener

With their raw baggage

And weighted accusations

Fingers pointed every which direction

The words you speak

Will haunt you.

On Marriage

I have a favorite ring that I wear, almost religiously, on my right ring finger.  Sterling silver, simple, imported from Israel, with Hebrew writing, it reads: “This is my beloved, this is my friend.” (Song of Solomon 5:16, NIV)  And so it is with my husband and me.  In a world that emphasizes lust and random sexual encounters, it is easy to lose sight of what it means to be friends with your spouse. 

Maintaining a friendship in your marriage means completely being yourself.  When I was a single college student, my mentor, Sharon, told me to eventually look for someone I could be myself with.  This was a foreign concept to me then, a young lady that would freeze up and act like anything but myself in the presence of my crushes.  I felt like I could just be me around my husband from the very beginning.  We were friends before becoming romantically involved.  And now, after almost six years of marriage and two children, this still holds true. 

Maintaining a friendship in your marriage means communicating:  the good, the bad, and yes, the ugly.  I like spending time with my husband.  We’re best buds.  When something exciting happens in my life, he is the first person I want to run to and share it with!  When my spirit has been crushed and I am left devastated, no one else can comfort me as well as he does. 

Maintaining a friendship in your marriage means pursuing shared interests.  When Beau and I first met in 2008, I was at the end of training for my first marathon.  Beau could not run around the block without feeling winded!  But because he was interested in pursuing me (and needed ideas for inexpensive dates), we started regularly jogging together.  Eventually, we ran a marathon together!  Two children later, we no longer participate in marathons, but physical activity and being healthy are still important to us.  Our level of activity varies during different seasons of life, but we continue to make it a priority. 

Maintaining a friendship in your marriage means serving one another.  Few things impress me more than my husband doing the dishes or helping me with laundry without me having to ask him to.  When we were receiving premarital counseling, one of our assignments was to discuss expectations we had of one another.  I will never forget my husband’s response.  He said, “Love me, feed me, make love to me, and comfort me when I’m feeling sad.”  It sounded simple enough at the time, and I still strive to do those things. 

At the end of the day, Song of Solomon got it right; I cherish life with my friend.

Minuet, No. 1

Prelude

The student sits, perpendicular to the piano

Back erect, fingers curled, knees just barely under the keys

Feet not touching the floor

Eyes bright with wonder

The finger strikes a note

Fermata

The sustained vibration echoes in the small room

Magic

Senses awaken

Souls Speak

Crescendo

The mind connects to the notes, to the eyes, the hands and heart

Staccato

Lightning bolts through the veins and out the ears

Electrifying all who hear

Sforzando!

A curious glance to the left

Towards the teacher, and a smile

Fine

What's in YOUR Child's Potty?

Scene:  I am sitting on the couch, nursing my three-month old daughter, with the Boppy placed snuggly around my waist.  My 2 ½ year old son is quietly working on puzzles in the playroom.  That’s right, I think to myself, I am mom, hear me roar!  Becoming a mother of two has certainly had its challenges, but here I am, enjoying a sweet moment.

All of a sudden, my little boy rushes in and announces, “Poo-poo, pee pee!”  while doing what appears to be the Mexican Hat Dance, his feet dancing around on the floor.  "Poo-poo and pee pee" in his world translates into pooping in the toilet (he has no problem walking around with a soggy pull-up in his current stage of potty training).  Dozens of scenarios and options run through my mind in the span of a few seconds.  “Okay, let’s go!” I say.

I promptly stand up, still holding the Boppy, and my baby girl, who is contentedly suckling on my breast.  The three of us walk towards the bathroom, my boy beaming because he knows to open the door for us.  He quickly pushes his step towards the toilet and I help him pull down his shorts and pull-up with my left arm, while my right arm props my newborn and the Boppy up on the sink counter. 

It does not take me long to realize this will not work, with my daughter growing ever frustrated because her food source is on the move.  I quickly walk her over to the couch and place her in a secure spot, saying, “Mama will be right back.  I need to go help big brother.”  (Because, you know, she understands me in this final stage before her meltdown.)

Frantically, I reenter the bathroom as my son proudly stands up from the toilet.  “Look, mama, I made the letter A!”  I peek into the toilet to find, indeed, three strands of poop that have magically fallen together to form a capital letter A.

“Wow…” is all I can muster.  I go between being an impressed former educator because my son is constantly making learning connections, even with his poop, to just wanting the experience to be over so there is peace in the house again!  The letter game has become part of our potty routine. 

My favorite references are when he says he’s made a sand castle with his feces and quotes, “All the letters fell off the coconut tree!” when he can’t quite make them out.  I can’t make this stuff up.

I catch a glimpse of my future:  driving a minivan with a bumper sticker that reads, “What’s in your child’s poop?”

Press Play

Press play

Another day

Of dishes, dirty clothes and diapers

                                                                                                Come play with me

Hold on…

The floor is sticky

Yesterday’s cheerios crusted over

Remnants of little hands on the table

What will visitors say?

                                                                                                Come play with me please

Their rooms

An endless supply

Of tiny traps,

Ninja turtles, dinosaurs and books

                                                                                                Come play with me NOW!

Sigh…

How did it come to this?

Me, not keeping up

Drowning

In seemingly simple tasks

                                                                                                I love you, mama!

Small arms wrapped around my legs

A tiny face, buried into my bottom

I reach out, kiss his forehead

Say I love you, too

And we play.