Epiphany

For my first year of blogging, epiphany was my word of choice, and I haven't used it since.

Micah had an epiphany yesterday.

As I was sitting at the computer working on a homework assignment around 8:30 last night, I heard some stirring in the living room behind me.  The piano bench stuttered across the floor, then I heard a few discordant notes.  I wondered if Evie had sneaked out of her bed, but I was right in the middle of a thought, so I didn't turn around. 

The difficult chord of Micah's Angels We Have Heard on High was the first recognizable sound I heard.  He proceeded through the entire section, then he turned back the page and started again, correcting his mistakes and repeating difficult passages.  Again and again he replayed those two pages, and after many passes through the hard part, he then began at the beginning and played all that he knows, even venturing into the next two measures of the unknown.

I thought that would be the end, but I was happily wrong. 

He played Toccata, Midnight Chase, The Hunting Song, Birthday Cake, Popcorn Man--anything he could get his hands on.  He asked Evie (who by this time HAD sneaked out of bed) what her favorite song was, and then he played it for her.

After twenty minutes at the piano, he came into the library, wrapped his arm around me and shyly said, "Mom, I'm in the mooood!" then he turned around, sat back at the piano, and played through Angels one final time before walking up the stairs to bed. Before leaving the bench, he called out, "Mom, do you think I'm playing the story?" I asked him what he thought, and he said, "Yes, especially in this section."

Forty-five minutes of unsolicited practice. Forty-five minutes of exploring the keyboard.  Forty-five minutes of making music.  Forty-five minutes of feeling and seeing what he can do at the piano.

Micah has been taking piano lessons since first grade, and I've seen something special in his music almost from the start.  He's so stubborn, however, and he had developed some bad habits and attitudes toward it over the last year.  My goals this past summer were to force him to slow down, learn to count, and learn that music tells stories--that it's more than just notes on the page.

Four months of practicing.  Four months of me forcing him to slow down. Four months of counting and metronomes.  Four months of explanations.  Four months of meltdowns and crying and fighting and yelling, "I HATE PIANO!!!" Four months of agony.  

And it was all worth it for that one question:
"Do you think I'm playing the story?"

I had an epiphany last night.

Sometimes, motherhood blesses you with rewards you can never foresee--joy in the journey, my friends.

Joy in the journey.