Old, Worn and Outcast

When I saw the photo of this piano, the image held me captive. My heart ached; I was saddened by her broken and forsaken appearance.

Long ago, a tree was selected; its wood carefully cut and then ornately designed to house her masterfully woven strings. At one time, she was precisely tuned to produce perfect pitch and harmony. The ebony and ivory keys were once flawless. Polished and full of luster, they lured the pianist, “caress me with your dancing fingers.” Now feeble, old and worn, she is an outcast.

How many tunes has she played? Endless melodies sung; ballads, jazz, hymns, folk or rock songs. Was this piano a dear companion to a composer? Perhaps, she served a virtuoso, a student of classical music? Maybe she was played in the theater, a church or possibly a pub? Cast off and abandoned, was she ever cherished, considered priceless, a family treasured heirloom?

Wondering, I kept looking at the photo; focusing on the unseen. Grayed and weathered, with her frame splintered, her keys warped, and her strings brittle and broken, she stands resolute. As I continued to look, my sadness surrendered to her mystery. Untold buried stories. I longed-for her forgotten music. Closing my eyes, I listened for her unsung song. “I made music, beautiful music. Once upon a time, lively audiences gathered around me, dancing, singing, and celebrating. An instrument of hope and purpose, my listeners felt free and alive!” Today, her youthful beauty has faded. Discarded, hollow and muted; only creeping crowds of entangling vines surround her.

This old wooden instrument returned home; a solemn carved-out tree in the midst of nature. At night, solitary and alone, does she secretly play melancholy tunes of days gone by? Or, do the nightingales and evening primrose beckon her to play choruses of triumphant joyful sound? Oh - to sit silently on a starry night and listen to her hushed lullabies. I imagine moon beams awakening her dormant keys, and nocturnal vines and spider webs, mending her broken strings. Bending my ear, I hear nature's clandestine choir. Upon her aged frame, creatures of the night; crickets, frogs, and owls conduct their evening symphony. All the while, fireflies dance like fairies, performing a glowing ballet. In her twilight years, nestled in the garden of life, encore performances forever play. In her solitude, she tenderly serenades...

“And the night shall be filled with music,

And the cares that infest the day

Shall fold their tents like the Arabs

And as silently steal away.”* 

Now, as I gaze at this piano, I am caught up in wonder of what once was, and enveloped in the hope of what could be. No matter how lost, old, worn, forgotten or abandoned you feel. Don’t lose heart! Hope!

“Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.” What lies ahead of us is a glory beyond all comparison. I encourage you to “look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen.”
(2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

Look beyond, look closer and see what could be – the unseen!


* Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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