Being a somewhat postmodern 18-year-old, I started telling myself a story right away about my piano, why I had it, what it meant. I believed that having this piano meant that God must love me, that I must mean more to Him than just one of the faceless multitudes He died for. I was astounded at the level of trust and care that my piano teacher had shown in loaning me the additional money I needed. Maybe God had a face; maybe He wanted me to be happy. That was the story I told. But I look back now and listen to another story that was only a whisper all those years - the story I actually believed. In the real story, God had given me more than I deserved out of the scarce resources of the world. Maybe He gave it to me so I would stop bothering Him. I couldn't ask for other things because already I had too much, and I owed Him a lifetime of gratitude. My value had risen from $25 to $2000, no higher.