i dared

today were auditions at dance

for our performance about Hellen Keller next summer

and i had the opportunity 

to choreograph a dance to this song,

It is Well With My Soul sung by Daniel Martin Moore,

for my solo audition. 

i suppose i dared to dance to this song.

but what is the real dare— 

dancing to the song 

or living its words? 

Cheyenne, Wyoming :: part 2

Continuing to tell about my week on a youth choir mission trip to Cheyenne, Wyoming. . . . 

Sunday morning, June 9, we visited an air force base. We sung at the church, and the chaplain gave us a tour of the base. We saw and learned about nuclear missile carriers, including how only the President can authorize the release of nuclear weapons.

Sunday afternoon (as well as Monday afternoon and Tuesday evening) we helped with a unique ministry at Sunnyside Baptist church, the place we were temporarily calling home. I was asked to give a testimony in our church about it, so I'll just share those words here:  

Hi! My name is Megan and this week I got to take part in a ministry that took me by surprise at Sunnyside Baptist Church in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Every summer, they hand out 50,000 water bottles to people attending the Cheyenne Frontier Days. Besides offering a drink, these water bottles are hand labeled with stickers that share scriptures about salvation. When we arrived at the church, pallets of water bottles lined the gym walls, ready to be unpacked, labeled, and repacked. We soon split up into teams and worked together to ready some of these pallets. In three days, we labeled a little more than nine pallets, totaling close to 17,000 water bottles. It was refreshing to be a part of something that will bring refreshment to others. 

On Sunday night we performed our full concert at Sunnyside. There were few who attended, but they were very hospitable. 

Monday, June 10, was full of preparations for an Upward basketball camp, backyard Bible clubs, and construction work at Sunnyside. My camera managed to stay in my bag. I was a part of the group doing backyard Bible clubs, so I got to help cut out stickers and read through lessons.

The day also included a visit to a local senior center. While waiting to sing, one of my friends and I talked to a lady named Connie who had grown up in Georgia, then moved to Wyoming. It was fascinating to hear about her transition. 

Monday night everyone helped with a cook out/ carnival for Upward basketball camp enrollees. While we were ready for forty or more kids, only two showed up. Between cup stacking, face painting, a cake walk, and other games, we still had lots of fun. 

Tuesday, June 11, officially began the activities. My backyard Bible club had three kids: one little girl and, later, a brother and sister. We shared the story of Creation with the kids, telling them that they are God's most special creation. 

Tuesday afternoon, after a second visit to the senior center, we visited Vedauwoo State Park. Talk about Creation! I readily admit that my expectations were low. I thought we'd see a pretty forest and a few big rocks. A look around the park, however, rocked my preconceptions. We split up into groups, each with a leader or two, and were given a couple hours to explore. My group spotted another group already a ways up one of the rock-covered mountain and wondered how in the world they got there. A loud conversation ensued, pictured above, in which we got the advice of "go that way". Somehow, we managed to climb up the mountain too. 

I attempted to capture the view by taking a video. It was a struggle to get to the almost-top of the little mountain. In the middle of climbing a particularly steep rock, one of my friends got stuck, her shoe fell off, and no new hand hold appeared. I reached out my own hand, but she worried she'd pull me down. We called our leader over. I started praying. Aloud. It made me feel somewhat suspended in the moment, calm as help came through our leader. 

On our way back down the mountain, we spotted a moose in the trees. We stayed quiet. Thankfully, it didn't seem to spot us. We found out later that another leader had taken a picture of a moose, and the moose had charged her and our wonderful bus driver. While running away, our bus driver stepped in a hole and hurt her calf. She had to wear a special boot the rest of the trip, but thankfully no bones were broken and her driving was not affected. 

Wednesday, June 12, slipped in with more backyard Bible clubs (and Upward basketball camps and construction work), as well as a concert at another church in town followed by a beautiful sunset. We didn't have any kids at our backyard Bible club location, but they had eleven kids at another one. We heard that the kids were rough, but receptive.

Breakfast on Thursday, June 13, startled me. I was seated and watching our choir director as he looked around the room for someone, one of the leaders, to pray. Then his eyes met mine and he mouthed Will you pray? I looked at him and mouthed Me? I thought there surely had to be someone else he was really asking. Still, he looked straight at me. Will you? I nodded, knowing my answer was yes, though I would never have volunteered it. He quieted the room. I talked to God. We ate our food and I marveled at how a few sentences aloud could grow me. 

Thursday morning was the last time my group did backyard Bible camp. We hung out at the playground with our music going and activities ready. No kids showed up, once again, but we placed quite a few flyers at different apartment doors. Some of the flyers told about VBS the next week at Sunnyside Baptist Church. All of the flyers had information about the church. We hoped that someone would take note. 

On Thursday afternoon we sang at a juvenile detention center. We saw kids our ages, with quite normal faces, wearing clothes slightly too big. We sang a song about things changing in a moment, but God staying the same.  

On Friday, June 14, we packed our stuff, loaded it onto the bus, cleaned the church that had been nice enough to let us make it messy, and headed down to Ft. Collins, Colorado. There, I went white water rafting for my first time. After the complications of renting and putting on wetsuits, hearing the safety spiel, and riding another bus out to the Cache la Poudre River, we finally got in rafts (I sat in the front right spot) and learned how to paddle. The water was high, causing us to move quickly, but without the danger of all the rocks. Everyone in my boat managed to stay seated for the entire ride, only experiencing the river in waves that refreshed us in our hot wetsuits. On a calm part of the river, our guide asked us to sing one of our choir songs. We sang our one a capella song, a version of Move by MercyMe. Things got a bit interesting as we realized we were all altos, but it was a lot of fun. Our choir director passed by in his raft and was grinning. 

After sleeping on a church pew on Friday night, we woke up bright and early on Saturday, June 15, and headed home. It was a long, but good ride. The bus was a bit quieter than it had been the previous Saturday. Everyone was ready to reach the church, be picked up by their families, and get a bit of sleep in their own beds before coming back the next morning to do our concert in each service. When we finally pulled into the church parking lot, my dad, who had been out of town with work all week, picked me up. I arrived home to my mom, growing sisters, and growing puppies. I told them about my time and they told me about theirs, all of us glad we had been able to talk throughout the week thanks to cellphones, but glad to be face to face again. 

Sunday, June 16, Father's day, came very quickly. There was a breakfast/awards ceremony before church. Each student was awarded something, such as Mission Trip Romance (given to my friend who was given a pretzel engagement ring by a seven year old) and Chief Mischief Maker (given to the boy who was a part of every prank). I was given the Marry Poppins award, prefaced with "this girl would smile even if her arm was cut off." Glad we didn't test that theory! 

All three church service concerts went well. We sang our songs and even remembered the words. I talked about the water bottle labeling, finding it unnecessary to read from my slip of paper. Turned out those words had soaked into my head too.

As in the last post, I see the theme of "words matter" throughout this trip. 

The President's words matter.
Words printed on a water bottle matter.
Activities provide opportunities to share words that matter.
Everyone's words matter.
Words in the Bible  matter.
Words shouted on a mountain matter. 

Even in the most physically scary times, it's words that really matter.
Sometimes it's the very lack of words that matters.
Kids have a good idea of the words that matter.
Words spoken to God always matter.
Words about a place that has hope matter.
Words about a God that is hope matter.

Our choir director is always showing us that words matter.
Words, however delivered, matter.
Unique awards are words that matter.
When words can be soaked into your head, they must matter.

John 1:1 states that "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."

I see that this trip was about words sung, words spoken, words written, and, most of all, the Word from whom everything else comes~

Cheyenne, Wyoming :: part 1

Hello again! Last time I was here I talked about getting ready for a youth choir mission trip with my church. Well, I'm back, safe and sound. I've been home for three weeks now, trying to assimilate the time. Here's a look at day one of the trip. . . 

I boarded a bus bright and early on Saturday, June 8. We were headed to Cheyenne, Wyoming to share the songs we had learned. After loading the luggage, we had a group prayer in the parking lot. 

As the bus pulled away, my mom and dad waved (goodbyes with my sisters had been said the night before).  We had hugged, but I hadn't said much as far as goodbyes go. I was smiling, but knew I was teetering on the edge of cheerful and tearful. I didn't talk in an effort to maintain balance. 

Driving through beautiful, albeit empty, Kansas, The Sound of Music was played on the mini TV screens. I was happy to hear the familiar story and sweet songs. They talked over the fear in my head. 

We passed many gigantic wind turbines, my future-engineer friend happily talking about how they work.

I knit, trying to trick my brain into relaxing by keeping my hands busy. Then I remembered the note my mom stuck in my backpack. I pulled it out and read the small piece of encouragement, Scripture, and love. It was nothing I didn't already know, but it calmed me. 

We drove by bright green fields. Clever word games were passed around and we had fun trying to solve them. Later I met the two sisters in charge of the games. This meeting happened in Subway, where we were getting dinner. A comment was made about one of the sisters just recently discovering she has a dairy allergy. She and I instantly connected, drawn together by mutual eating implications. She shared her snickerdoodle cookies, I shared my granola bars. 

A picture of my sisters, slathered with sunscreen and smiles, arrived in my phone. It came with a text about them having fun riding all the roller coasters at the amusement park. I don't like roller coasters, so my stomach turned a bit to picture my little, sweet sisters on the big, scary rides. Still, I smiled to see and read that they were having fun. 

Mountains came into view as the sun went down. Kids crowded the windows on the left side of the bus. We'd reached Colorado. I texted a picture to my family, updating them on our progress.

It was dark by the time we arrived at our home base for the week, Sunnyside Baptist Church in Cheyenne, Wyoming, so I took a picture of it a couple days later. The pastor greeted us and told us a bit about the area. 

We moved around furniture, plopped our luggage down on the concrete floor, blew up air mattresses, and rolled out sleeping bags in the church's basement. The girls got the big, open room, but it was still a tight fit. As the week wore on, we had many a conversation while sitting criss cross applesauce on our pushed-together air mattresses. We learned more about each other, bit by bit.  

Before going to sleep, we tried to get clean. The girls bathroom was a dark, half-finished place. Spiderwebs hung from the pipes, shower curtains hung only partially from the rods. I talked with my friend as we showered (quickly, as the water had a single temperature- cold). The room was less creepy when you could occupy your thoughts with conversation. Exhausted from the day, it didn't take long for me to get to sleep that night.

That first day I wondered why in the world I was leaving home, even for one week. Looking back, I see a theme. . .

We sang because we believed words matter. 

We prayed because God believes that words matter. 

I kept quiet because I felt how much words matter. 

Familiar songs comfort because words matter

 Informative words matter. 

Written words matter. 

Words in the form of offhanded comments matter. 

Texted words matter. 

Words of welcome matter. 

Each other's words matter.

Why did I go? Because words matter. 

Thank you for your prayers, and thank you for valuing my words. More on the rest of the trip tomorrow~ 

Ready?

Tomorrow I leave on a youth choir mission trip with my church.
My bags are packed,
But I am still trying to feel ready.
I'm excited for this new adventure,
Anticipating challenges and fun and growth,
But hit with the need for deeper reliance on God.
The newness of this experience intimidates me.
Seems the challenges and growing have already begun.
Gathering words of strength. . .

When I am afraid, I will trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can mortal man do to me? Psalm 56: 3-4

He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, and its people are like grasshoppers. He stretches out the heavens like a canopy, and spreads them out like a tent to live in. Isaiah 40:22

My heart is steadfast, O God; I will sing and make music with all my soul. Psalm 108:1 

I love you, O Lord, my strength. Psalm 18:1 

I always appreciate prayers, but appreciate them especially this week. Will be back sharing words and pictures soon~

Speed of Love

The metro train in D.C. from our experience with it in May 

There is an invisible time bomb dropped Thanksgiving night
When the celebration of plenty
Gives way to a race for more
And sweet contentment
Finds a back door
Because Christmas is coming
And you mustn't be late
The calendar even comes with a 'save the date'
So we hurry to prepare
Special times and things for those we hold dear
While living in a cave of to do's and fear
We say it's out of love
That we go that speed
But, I've been wondering if that's true,
That idea I first heard in the Owl City song, Speed of Love ,
Do we really fit our speed into that glove?
Because our speed changes
While love stays the same
And makes me wonder
If passion, on the other hand, is the speed in our range
Since it is what usually fuels activity
While using love as it's guise
As passion on it's own is not of noble size
So it masquerades
Chasing possessions and wealth
Position and health
Then inevitable curves it's path
Because passion doesn't last
It has no future, though a long past
That's why it wears the vast name of love
Because love is the real power
Yet one that is only from above
It's the thing in hearts, that saved hearts
The thing we really need
For anything to succeed
It has been so very exalted
Yet isn't really understood
Despite the fact that it never wears a false hood
Passion remains the lollipop
Scoffing at the peach
Promises sweetness
Though leaving nourishment beyond reach
It remains a train without direction
Traveling with distance but no displacement
Moving, always moving
Because it's not a good replacement
So in the midst of an enthusiastic dash
To get and garnish
gather and give
I'm pondering over passion's great weakness
That it is unable to grow
That is has not meekness
And I'm thinking about what actually can move upwards
Real love
The kind that creates a world and a cross
I'm trying to look beyond the blur
Of lights and intrigue
Of people running after the least-broken love they can find
To try and see the thing that can bind
Because there is only one sun
There is only one Son
And if your chase is after that finish line
After celebrating that little baby manger
After a life of growth
Then you will get a gentle shove
Into going the beautiful speed of love

Blessed speed to you~ Megan

Already Known

Humming Mandy Mapes' beautiful song. . . . giving thanks for a God who already knows and provides. . . . listing gratitude. . . .

806. sleeping in

807. the magic of story

808. art area organized

809. little ballerinas

810. spending Friday completely at home

811. orange juice

812. caring ballet teachers

813. my dad fixing me breakfast Saturday morning

814. my parents' encouragement

815. taking the ACT

816. a break halfway through the test

817. a girl who saw me going down the wrong hallway for the restroom and pointed me in the right direction

818. tissues

819. trying this Pinterest tip for naturally whiter nails (I should have taken before and after pictures- my nails look clean, but I can't decide if they look any whiter)

820. head cold leaving me

821. new music

Blessings~ Megan

Lavender Song

Singing about the beauty. . . 


796. sprinkler dodging on morning walk

797. dew sparkling on each blade of grass

798. new table and chairs on our deck

799.  action movie watching with my dad and sisters

800. good ballet rehearsal

801. becoming a character

802. driving to the library

803. my dad's patience in teaching me how to drive

804. trip to Powell Gardens

805. lavender in bloom

Blessings~ Megan

On My Toes

Hello again! Time has gone by rather quickly since I last posted. I didn't mean to take a blogging break, but these past few weeks have kept me on my toes. . .

-- Dance intensive. I was very literally on my toes in a two-week dance intensive where I took ballet, modern, jazz, and an assortment of other classes every day. It was both an amazing and exhausting experience!  

-- Opera camp. As soon as the dance intensive ended, opera camp began. While there I enjoyed learning about the opera Turandot, singing a variety of songs, and getting to do it with Middle Sister and a couple of good friends. I thought these two weeks would be calmer, but opera camp kept me on my toes in a whole other way. 

-- Cold. This week I didn't have any kind of camp, instead I had a full-blown head cold which kept me at my favorite place—home. In the midst of recuperating, I began several school subjects, did a lot of reading, and eased back into a more familiar routine.                                                                                
       

I have very much enjoyed living on my toes, but am now looking forward to a more paced schedule with time to sit down and capture bits of life right here in the blogging world. See you soon! ~Megan

Captured by Tough Beauty

I usually think of blessings as beautiful things that make me smile. But, as I have been keeping a gratitude journal, I am realizing that blessings can also be hard and painful.

Beauty in the beautiful is easy to find.

It's beauty in the difficult that is much better at hiding.

On Sunday I had an afternoon of tough blessings.

It all started when my mom, sisters, and I went to see my great grandma, Nana. She lives in room 111 at a local retirement center. We planned on chatting with Nana for a little while, then going to get groceries for the week.

We stepped through the door of Nana's apartment to find she had other visitors--my Gramma and PopPop. PopPop was seated on his scooter, Nana in her wheelchair, and they were staring each other down in a silence that spoke volumes. We quietly walked to the other side of the room and sat down. Our arrival was at a very tense moment. 

PopPop was the first to speak, "Mom, you can't stay here. You're just not strong enough. You need to move to either a rehab center or a nursing home."

"Why can't I get the help I need at home? I just want to go home," Nana replied pensively. At that moment the home she was referring to was a blue duplex she had lived in before the retirement center.

"You just don't have the strength, Mom. You couldn't even go to the bathroom by yourself right now," PopPop said.

"Yes I could. I just don't need to right now," Nana's eyes wandered around the room.

"If you could, why don't you simply try moving your leg?" PopPop challenged.

"I could, but I don't need to right now," Nana still avoided PopPop's gaze.

It sounded as though they had switched roles, PopPop being the parent and Nana the child. I looked toward the TV screen which was flashing news reporters and polls. The discussion was necessary, but painful to hear. Nana continued to stubbornly insist she was just fine and PopPop continued to tell her she needed more help.

Eventually PopPop looked away from Nana with a sigh. He turned his attention to finding the TV turner he thought they had accidentally thrown in the trash. "Someone come help me," PopPop said as he headed to the door. Youngest Sister, Middle Sister, and I all followed him across the hall to a blue trash barrel.

"We need to take out a bag from there with banana peels," PopPop said. I opened the bin and took out the top Wal-Mart sack. PopPop looked through the plastic and decided the remote was probably not in there.

I took out another sack.
                                                        And another sack.
                                                                                                      And another sack.
 
They were all empty of TV turners.

I was coming to the bottom of the barrel and had to reach my whole arm down to reach a fifth sack. The farther down I went the worse the smell. This time, as I lifted the sack up, something dripped out of it. Thankfully, PopPop decided we had searched enough.

"You have now dug through a trash can," PopPop said. "But I'm sorry you had to do it."

I tried to smile, "It's okay." I could tell this was hard for him. He wasn't high enough in the scooter to be able to reach in the bin himself and he didn't want me to have to do it.

We crossed the hall and came back into Nana's room.

Gramma and my mom were putting away miscellaneous things for Nana. PopPop volunteered to take Youngest Sister, Middle Sister, and me to get a can of soda. Gramma dug in her purse for loose change, then we went down the hall to a little room that housed the soda machine. Middle Sister and Youngest Sister each put in sixty-five cents and pushed the button for Sprite. I counted up the rest of the change. Forty cents. "I'll be right back." PopPop said as he wheeled away. In another minute he was back with a quarter and I pushed the button for a grape soda, the one he said was his favorite.

On our way back to Nana's room, PopPop took a detour. We came up behind a family talking to the manager about available rooms. PopPop quickly picked up on the conversation and proceeded to give a rave review of the retirement home. Between his statements about the amazing food, comfortable apartments, and loving workers who had let him borrow a quarter, I realized both why he had been a good salesman and where he had obtained the quarter. The family listened attentively throughout his speech and thanked him for sharing when he had finished. The manager patted him on the back, saying "This man here, he's like a brother to me." PopPop practically glowed as we went back to Nana's room.

"Girls, why don't you and Gramma go sit in the atrium?" My mom asked as we came to the door. Back down the hall with Gramma now, we sat down on a sofa and waited. We talked about my great aunt who was driving up from Texas as we spoke. She planned to move into Nana's old duplex. . . "home" as Nana had called it. We wondered how Nana, PopPop, and my mom were doing. We listened to the grandfather clock tick and tock and finally gong. Concerned and bored, we eventually decided to go back to the room.

PopPop was just outside the bathroom door when we arrived and greeted us, "She's been in there the whole time and Amy has had to do practically everything for her."

Suddenly digging through the trash didn't sound quite so bad.

My mom stuck her head out the door, "I can't get Nana back into her wheelchair. Dad, can you go get help?" PopPop turned on his own scooter and wheeled out of the room, going faster than any scooter should be allowed to go. As we opened our cans of soda, we told my mom about PopPop's sales pitch and the borrowed quarter. She pulled out a quarter from her purse and told us to take it to the front office.

We met up with PopPop and the manager just outside the office. I handed the quarter to the manager then listened to the conversation about getting Nana up and moving her someplace else. We soon went back down the hallway and were followed by several workers. By now we could have walked down the hall blindfolded. As we filed into Nana's room, my mom stepped out of the bathroom to let in the new help.

All was quiet until one of the workers, a lady in pink, came out of the room saying "911. She's fallen. We need to call 911!" 

I stood still, shocked. I had memorized this helpful number in preschool, but hadn't ever needed to use it. Really God? I wondered. Is now really the time?

My mom's eyes looked red and a bit puffy, but she grabbed a phone and dialed the number. Before long firemen and paramedics arrived and worked together to get Nana on a stretcher. Middle Sister, Youngest Sister, and I watched from a distance as they took Nana to the ambulance. I looked through glossy eyes toward my sisters and saw they too were fighting tears. The older sister side of me took over and I tried to comfort them. Somewhere in the midst of  saying, "It's okay," and a silent prayer, I found myself comforted too.

We drove to the hospital and left Nana a couple of hours later in very capable hands. She wasn't seriously injured, just very weak.

It was a traumatic experience, but I can see how God knew best that afternoon. Nana was forced to get much needed help and is now comfortably situated in a rehabilitation center. Unfortunately she hasn't yet accepted where she is.

Right now I am trying to accept where I am. This post was supposed to be for Monday, but it has taken me much longer to work through. It has been both challenging and good for me to write. Still, I am sorry to be posting my Multitude Monday late!

 
 Giving thanks for beauty everywhere. . .

 447. Nana, safe and sound

448. The opportunity to take a watercolor art class

449. Making two new friends there

450. Driving home with my dad

451. Spontaneously baking Banana Chocolate Muffins with my mom and sisters on Friday morning 

452. Summer Reading Program excitement

453. Friday night spent eating pizza and watching movies with my sisters

454. A successful dessert experiment (though, when putting together strawberries, cool whip, and chocolate chips, things are bound to go well)

455. Listening to the new Owl City CD, All Things Bright and Beautiful 

456. A longer jog 

457. Stretching time

458. Noticing a bug in a flower and realizing it was being gripped by a white spider. At first I was sad. Then I remembered I don't really like bugs anyway. Besides, I figured, this spider might be in as great of need as the bug. I put a picture of the scene up at the top of this post because it seemed to tie all of my ideas together-- Here on the earth, we have the choice to be caught by either the difficulty or the beauty in a situation. There is always hope if we look deeper into God's perfect plan.

May you be captured by beauty of all kinds~ Megan

Painting the Week with Music

While in a lyrical dance class on Monday, my teacher put her iPod on shuffle and had us dance to whatever music started playing. She wanted us to try and change our movement with the changing songs. It was an interesting exercise and I decided to try doing it today with my calendar painting, substituting paint for dance.  

The changes in my picture are not as dramatic as they could be, but it was fun to play around with different brush strokes depending on the beat of the song. Happy painting! ~Megan

The Third Monday in December

Every year, on the third Monday in December, I go to a local care center to sing Christmas carols with my Paw Paw. Last year Middle Sister joined us and this year Youngest Sister came too. It is nice to take a short trip away from home and help share the joy of Christmas! ~Megan

Still Shocked and Still Smiling

I received my score for the piano competition and found out that I earned a trophy! This surprised me because I have never messed up so much in a piano competition. I was focusing on all I had gained from the experience rather than the unknown score.

When my piano teacher called, telling me a much better score than I expected, I felt like I had been rewarded for the practice I had done as well as the experience itself. Now, when I look at the trophy I can remember the competition and smile :)  Although, God allowed me enough time without the trophy to know I'd be smiling either way.

~Megan

Competition

The day before the piano competition I try to make myself nervous. I know this sounds crazy, but I practice playing the pieces imagining I'm in a strange room, sitting at an unfamiliar piano, being watched by a straight-faced judge. It doesn't work very well. The night before, I am still cool as a cucumber, hoping it will last.

Then comes the next day-- the one that I have been preparing for months in advance. I eat a breakfast despite the fact I am not hungry. I get ready for the day. While curlers are in my hair, I iron the brown skirt I am going to wear. I practice my pieces one last time before my sisters, Mom, and I head out the door.

In the car my heart seems to be pumping faster than usual. Other than that, I am pretty calm. I am happy that I am a lot more relaxed than other times.

This is all before we get to the hotel. Once there, my feet begin to slide in my shoes. While in the bathroom I try to wipe them off. I use my newly ironed skirt. It helps, and I make my way to the sign-in table where my official name tag is missing, forcing me to use a temporary one. We then go up the elevator to room #13. I hand my two pieces of music over to the official girl outside the competition room, while hearing one of my pieces being played on the other side of the door. The door opens and I am escorted into the hotel-turned-music room.

I see the piano. I hear a cheerful voice saying that I can warm up. I begin to play a scale. My fingers play automatically, but my mind is in another zone. After a minute has slowly passed, the same, cheerful voice tells me that I may begin.

I start. First I play the piece that I heard while waiting my turn, Camel Caravan. Then, I go into another piece, The Matador. After a couple of stumbles on the foreign piano, with the pedals not even an inch above the hotel carpet, I have finished. The cheerful voice from earlier talks one more time. The owner of this voice is a judge. She tells me that I may leave the room. I go out into the hallway, relieved that it is over. A minute later the official girl returns my music.

We get into our car. Even though I've done a better job other times, I feel good with what I did. I even think I would like to do it again, now that I've had some practice. It helps knowing that all the practice I put into it will pay off regardless of the score I receive.

~Megan