Her name was Mrs. Fellers. I wasn't crazy about meeting her. Not only did I not want to take piano lessons all that much,  a friend named Jesse who was already taking lessons from her told me that she would hit you with a fishing rod if you missed your notes. My brother got to take art lessons. How was that fair? 

I vividly remember the house where I took lessons. My mom, always early, would pull into the little driveway where we'd wait until the the girl before me finished with her time slot. Wait my in the car, I'd look out of the window to the house on the left, Mrs. Feller's neighbor. Three kids lived there who always seemed to be playing outside; taunting me from the other side of the chainlink fence. 

Just as clear is the memory of my first day of lessons. The studio where I'd play, which was attached to Mrs. Feller's house, was plain and small with not much more than a piano and a chair. Mrs. Fellers, an older woman who wasn't much taller than I was, wore bright lipstick and slacks and had hair that didn't move. In the corner, propped up against the piano was a fishing rod. It was missing a reel and string. Clearly it wasn't for fishing. 

The few years I took lessons, I showed up weekly to Mrs. Feller's studio with my bag in tow containing my two piano books. Every Tuesday afternoon she had me take out my books and play for her what she had assigned as homework. At first I didn't do so bad even though I rarely practiced. I'd learned to play by ear. I was a pro at memorizing the music without really realizing the notes I was playing. 

Time would tell that I wasn't a pianist even though I faked recitals well, carefully tapping the keys I'd put to memory while really getting down on the pedal. 

I guess I should mention that even though I didn't embrace piano, I never got whacked with the fishing rod. She used it to point out the notes that I neglectfully ignored. 

Mrs. Fellers was truthfully a nice lady. Not only did she patiently model the music for me when I forgot the notes, she made Christmas fudge for her students.   I looked forward to that gift every year. It came in a plastic tub, always with a metallic bow on top. 

I didn't get the full experience of piano because I lacked passion and because I wasn't prepared. 

The fudge was sweet, but I missed out on something sweeter...learning to play the music. 

Christmas is upon us.  Are you prepared? Not your house and shopping (those motions we go through like toy soldiers). The celebration of Jesus birth is near. Emmmanuel. God, with us. Are you anticipating his coming? Will he see your passion for him play out in notes that aren't memorized, but fully known? 

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. John 1:14