Rejoice

The following was submitted by one of our readers:

At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story. My name is Mildred
Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from DeMoines, Iowa.
I’ve always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons-something I’ve
done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels
of musical ability. I’ve never had the pleasure of having a protg though I
have taught some talented students. However I’ve also had my share of what I
call “musically challenged” pupils. One such student was Robby.

Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single mom) dropped him off for his
first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys!) begin at an
earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But Robby said that it had always
been his mother’s dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a
student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I
thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the
sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his
scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn.
Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to
encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he’d always say, “My mom’s
going to hear me play someday.” But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have
any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped
Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and

smiled but never stopped in. Then one day Robby stopped coming to our
lessons. I thought about calling him but assume because of his lack of
ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that
he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!

Several weeks later I mailed to the student’s homes a flyer on the upcoming
recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be
in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and
because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mother
had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still
practicing. “Miss Hondorf…I’ve just got to play!” he insisted.
I don’t know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was
his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would
be all right. The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was
packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the
program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a
finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end
of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance
through my “curtain closer.” Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The
students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage. His
clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he’d run an eggbeater through
it. “Why didn’t he dress up like the other students?” I thought. “Why didn’t
his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?” Robby
pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced
that he had chosen Mozart’s Concerto #21 in C. Major.

I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys,
they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to
fortissimo…from allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart
demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people
his age After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and
everyone was on their feet in wild applause.

Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby
in joy. “I’ve never heard you play like that Robby! How’d you do it? Through
the microphone Robby explained: “Well Miss Hondorf…remember I told you my
mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this morning. And
well….she was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever heard me
play. I wanted to make it special.” There wasn’t a dry eye in the house that
evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be
placed into foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy
and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as
my pupil. No, I’ve never had a protg but that night I became a protg…of
Robby’s. He was the teacher and I was the pupil. For it is he that taught me
the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even
taking a chance in someone and you don’t know why.

This is especially meaningful to me since after serving in Desert Storm,

Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal
Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where he was
reportedly….playing the piano.

And now, a footnote to the story. If you are thinking about forwarding this
message, you are probably thinking about which people on your address list
aren’t the “appropriate” ones to receive this type of message. The
person who sent this to you believes that we can all make a difference. We
all have thousands of opportunities a day to help realize God’s plan. So many
seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a
choice:
Do we pass along a spark of the Divine? Or do we pass up that opportunity and
leave the world a bit colder in the process?

You have two choices now: 1. Delete this. 2. Forward it to the people you
care about. You know the choice I made. Thank you for reading this..

_________________________
Romans 8:18
For I consider the sufferings
of this present time are not worthy
to be compared with the glory which
shall be revealed in us.


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