I glanced around the sanctuary one last time. The dim lighting combined with Christmas-sparkle gave everything a sort of dreamy, Enchanted feeling. There was no one else in this magic room – no one but me, and that gorgeous kinanda that stood on the stage, tilted oh-so-invitingly in my direction. Like a nondo to a flame, I made my way down the aisle to have a better look at it.
An aching longing to play filled my heart. My old clavinova back nyumbani was nothing compared to this glistening instrument, the shiny-black kinanda I could only ever dream of having. Every curve was flawless, the keys spotless, every string tuned to perfection...oh, if only...but no. We couldn’t even afford lessons anymore. I’d have to wait many, many years to get something even close to it.
I reached out a tentative hand and gently caressed the polished wood, being careful not to smudge it. Was I allowed to play this piano? Would anyone see me? I could practically hear it begging me to sit on the cushioned bench and touch its smooth, black and white keys...
“Please, come and play me,” it whispered. “Come and play a song.”
Just one song...
The temptation was irresistible. Cautiously seating myself in front of it, I spread my fingers over the keyboard...and listened. A melody was just at my fingertips; I could hear the music, feel it stir inside me...
I pressed down the keys, playing hesitant scales, cords, octaves, arpeggios...and finally, something clicked. The muziki flowed through me into the instrument, and the kinanda happily responded. A song I’d never heard before began to take shape; a song of quiet glory, humble praise, unquenchable joy...
It chased away all confusion and darkness, replacing them with a feeling of comfort and peace. I was being transported to another place; a place of warmth and light and beauty, that no shadow could ever touch. I closed my eyes and drank in the music, thanking God for this moment as it lifted me higher and higher into His presence. My fingers danced over the keys and the song kept flowing out, filling the room with glory; melody and harmony entwined with the joy of knowing my Creator, the composer of my life’s song.
I could stay here forever...
“That’s beautiful, hun.”
Startled, my head whipped ‘round toward...my Mom. I fumbled the chord I was playing, my fingers froze-—how did she get here? What happened?...
“You need to hurry up. Everyone’s waiting for wewe and it’s way past your bedtime.”
She smiled at me, but her eyes had that firm, impatient look in them; the kind your parents give wewe when they’re not swaying the way wewe want.
Feeling slightly dazed, I turned back to the keyboard and played the last few notes escaping out of my mind. The muziki lingered in the air for a moment, and faded away. My magic world vanished into the winter night sky.
I reluctantly lifted my fingers from the keys and stood to my feet. Mom smiled again and took my hand, and we walked away – away from the church, away from the stage, away from the piano. We walked mbele – towards the door, towards the outside world, towards Anything.
But I knew I’d return, because kinanda magic always finds a way to bring wewe back.
