pumpkin Archives - Flannel with Faith

Happy Fall, faithful friends.

Today I don’t need flannel, but I’m dressed in faith. The 80 degrees and higher will give way to cooler temps in the west. Without my friends, I couldn’t make this trip (for MANY reasons). ). My fall forecast calls for a season of change; cooler contentment mixed with the colors of calm. I hope to be raking ridiculous results and jumping in piles of promise (well, not that SOON :-). May faith be in your forecast; our Savior soothe your soul.

Timeless Treasure

*My local writing guild provided a prompt of a piano for this month’s writing contest. Giving life to an inanimate object is diffic**ult (thank you, Martha, for editing suggestions). Here you go, Mom. My friends, Kelley and Gary, may enjoy this, too. If you grew up around a piano, you understand.*

In the shadow, you stand stoic and stately. Shining upon you, a golden light unmasks your aged beauty and warmth. You’re so grand in your upright stance. Your Ivory keys are yellowed; yet your half-steps are still pitch black for Momma to see. C to D to E. F to G, then A, B, and another C.

Your basswood bench was her throne, your pedals shifted the tone. Momma’s hands made the music, she never sang alone. Together we created a musical melody. Momma sang alto, Dad belted bass, sisters sang soprano, and I’d find a harmony place. Momma tickled the tempo tight, and grace became a key. Children’s songs to choruses, “Just as I am, without one plea.”

At age 7 I had my first song solo. With affection, I reflect on the practice times with you. Our devotions matched; I couldn’t detach. “Would the church piano be as great as Momma’s,” I wondered. Nervously, I held the microphone singing: “I saw a blind man tapping along, losing his way, as he passed through the throng. Tears filled my eyes, I said, ‘Friend you can’t see,’ but with a smile on his face, he replied to me.”

From “Hallelujah Square” to “I Want to See Jesus,” you supplied hope and a promise, a love we still share. “It is Well with My Soul” and “How Great Thou Art,” songs linger around you, they stay in my heart. At ten with the lessons, I grasped chords and notes. The yearning to play is a hope that still floats.

Our gathering has dwindled. Longsuffering and composed, you stand serene and quiet. Adorned with family photos, you’re a heavenly piece. Patiently you wait for us to gather around. No matter what life brings, we’ll sing hopeful sounds. Most times you sit alone, dependable, and respected. Our songs have changed, children have grown, Momma’s fingers ache, and some family voices are gone. Through times that were hard, unexpected, and good, you’re more than a piano made with wood. You’re a gift in our gathering and melodies in our souls. The music from you is what makes us whole.

Hearing music from you, I release any strife. You’re Momma’s piano, a timeless treasure, a marked part of my life.