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Fenceposts and Forgiveness There once was a little boy who had a very bad temper. His dad gave him a bag of nails and told him, "Son, every time you lose your temper, mouth off, or feel angry, hammer a nail into this fencepost. The first day the boy hammered 23 nails into the fencepost. Driving those big nails into that old fencepost was hard work. His small arms were sore, but hammering those nails in all the way made him feel better. Over the next days, the boy continued to hammer nails. This outlet for his anger resulted in gradually fewer outbursts, and the boy felt less angry. Four days later, the boy gave back the empty bag of nails to his father. They walked out to look at the fencepost. His dad said, "Now son, turn the hammer around. Every time you lose your temper, mouth off, or feel angry, pull out one of these nails from the fencepost." The boy found pulling those nails out was much harder than hammering them in. Each nail pulled out brought to memory the anger with which it was driven in. The boy began to feel sorry he lost his temper so often. Weeks later, he pulled the last nail out of the fencepost. The boy and his father walked out again to look at the fencepost. "You have worked hard, son. You have learned that anger has consequences. Look at the fencepost, it will never be the same. It is full of deep holes. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one." Words are like knives. You can stab a knife in someone, draw it out, and it won' t matter how many times you say I'm sorry. The wound is still there. A verbal wound often hurts as bad as a flesh wound. Making Pancakes Six year old Brandon decided one Saturday morning to fix his parents pancakes. He found a big bowl and spoon, pulled a chair to the counter, opened the cupboard and pulled out the heavy flour canister, spilling it on the floor. He scooped some of the flour into the bowl with his hands, mixed in most of a cup of milk and added some sugar, leaving a floury trail on the floor which by now had a few tracks left by his kitten. Brandon was covered with flour and getting frustrated. He wanted this to be something very good for Mom and Dad, but it was getting very bad. He didn't know what to do next, whether to put it all into the oven or on the stove and he didn't know how the stove worked! Suddenly he saw his kitten licking from the bowl of mix and reached to push her away, knocking the egg carton to the floor. Frantically he tried to clean up this monumental mess but slipped on the eggs, getting his pajamas white and sticky. And just then he saw Dad standing at the door. Big crocodile tears welled up in Brandon's eyes. All he'd wanted to do was something good, but he'd made a terrible mess. He was sure a scolding was coming, maybe even a spanking. But his father just watched him. Then, walking through the mess, he picked up his crying son and hugged him, getting his own pajamas white and sticky in the process. That's how God deals with us. We try to do something good in life, but it turns into a mess. Our marriage gets all sticky or we insult a friend, or we can't stand our job, or our health goes sour. Sometimes we just stand there in tears because we can't think of anything else to do. That's when God picks us up and forgives us, even though some of our mess gets all over Him. Gardens are not made by sitting in the shade. -- Rudyard Kipling Robby - A true story My name is Mildred Haugen. I am a former elementary music teacher from Des Moines, 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 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 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 one 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 assumed, 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 Mom had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still practicing. "Miss Haugen...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 Haugen, 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 protege but that night I became a protege...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, will you pass on this story? 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?
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