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Forwarded message From: RV Rao IOCL
Simply mooving one!
Subject: This is a beautiful and touching story of love and perseverance -
well worth the read
*Subject:* DO NOT DELETE, RETURN IF YOU CAN'T Forward!!!
*This is a true story and it will give you the chills.
This is a beautiful and touching story of love and perseverance.
Well worth the read.
**At the prodding of my friends I am writing this **story. My name is
Mildred Honor and I am a former elementary school music teacher from Des
Moines , Iowa .
I have always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons -
something I have done for over 30 years.
**
**
During those years I found that children have many levels of musical
ability, and even though I have never had the pleasure of having a
prodigy, I have taught some very talented students.
However, I have also had my share of what I call 'musically challenged'
pupils - one such pupil being 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 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 piano 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 would always say 'My mom's going to
hear me play someday'. But to me, 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 dropped in.
Then one day Robby stopped coming for his lessons. I thought about
calling him, but assumed that because of his lack of ability he had
decided to pursue something else. I was also glad that he had stopped
coming - he was a bad advertisement for my teaching!
Several weeks later I mailed a flyer recital to the students' homes. To
my surprise, Robby (who had received a flyer) asked me if he could be in
the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and that
because he had dropped out, he really did not qualify.
**He told me that his mother had been sick and unable **to take him to
his piano lessons, but that he had been practicing.
'Please Miss Honor, I've just got to play' he insisted. I don't know
what led me to allow him to play in the recital - perhaps it was his
insistence or maybe something inside of me saying that it would be all
right.
**The night of the recital came and the high school **gymnasium was
packed with parents, relatives and friends. I put Robby last in the
program, just before I was to come up and thank all the students and
play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he might 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
practising and it showed. Then Robby came up on the stage. His clothes
were wrinkled and his hair looked as though he had run an egg beater
through it. 'Why wasn't he dressed 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 I was surprised when he announced
that he had chosen to play Mozart's Concerto No..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 suspendedchords that Mozart
demands were magnificent!
Never had I heard Mozart played so well by anyone 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
onstage and put my arms
around Robby in joy. 'I have never heard you play like that Robby, how
did you do it?
' Through the microphone Robby explained: 'Well, Miss Honor .....
remember I told you that my mom was sick? Well, she actually had cancer
and passed away this morning. And well ...... she was born deaf, so
tonight was the first time she had ever heard me play, and 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 in to foster care,
I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy.
I thought to myself then how much richer my life had been for taking
Robby as my pupil.
No, I have never had a prodigy, but that night I became a prodigy
........ of Robby. He was the teacher and I was the pupil, for he had
taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and **believing in
yourself, and may be even taking a chance on someone and **you didn't
know why.
Robby was killed years later in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P.
Murray FederalBuilding in Oklahoma City in April, 1995.
**And now, a footnote to the story. If you are thinking **about
forwarding this message, you are probably wondering which people on your
addresslist 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!
Read it's a nice story.
God Lives Under The Bed
Don't start reading this one until you've got more than 3 or 4 minutes
to just 'scan' over it. It deserves some time for reflection.
GOD LIVES UNDER THE BED
I envy Kevin. My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed. At
least that's what I heard him say one night.
He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped to listen,
'Are you there, God?' he said. 'Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the
bed...'
I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique
perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something
else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the first time the
very different world Kevin lives in.
He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of
difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2), there
are few ways in which he is an adult.
He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and
he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under
his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our
tree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the sky because
angels carry them.
I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different. Is he ever
dissatisfied with his monotonous life?
Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled,
home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his favorite
macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.
The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers
excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn
child.
He does not seem dissatisfied.
He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple
work.
He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove
before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty
laundry for his next day's laundry chores.
And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That's the day my Dad takes
Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and
speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside. 'That
one's goin' to Chi-car-go! ' Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.
His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.
And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.
He doesn't know what it means to be discontent.
His life is simple.
He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, and he does
not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats.
His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they
may not be.
His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working.
When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is
completely in it.
He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave
a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows
how to relax.
He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others His heart is pure.
He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and
when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.
Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid
to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry. He is always transparent,
always sincere. And he trusts God.
Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he
comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God - to really be friends with
Him in a way that is difficult for an 'educated' person to grasp. God
seems like his closest companion.
In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity I envy
the security Kevin has in his simple faith.
It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine
knowledge that rises above my mortal questions
It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap
. I am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances - they all
become disabilities when I do not trust them to God's care
Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn? After all, he
has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark
and soaking up the goodness and love of God.
And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all
amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God
heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under
his bed.
Kevin won't be surprised at all!
When you receive this, say a prayer. That's all you have to do. There
is nothing attached. This is powerful.
Just send this to four people and do not break this, please. Prayer is
one of the best free gifts we receive. There is no cost, but a lot of
rewards.
FRIENDS ARE ANGELS WHO LIFT US TO OUR FEET WHEN OUR WINGS HAVE TROUBLE
REMEMBERING HOW TO FLY
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*जन सेवा ईश्वर सेवा *
*cnu.pne*
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