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Two Ways of Looking at a Piano

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.

Comments

Kelly Sauer said…
I used to think He would take my voice away if I didn't give Him the glory. I sang in shame for so many years, begging Him to just let me keep what He'd given me. Then when everything went, I didn't even want to sing anymore.

I think you knew something more - know something more. We know how much we are worth, whether we know we know or not. It is why we ask for love.

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