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The intense service rendered in the name of family is the water and sunlight for a seed, the sweat and soreness for strength, and the matches and lighter fluid for a raging bonfire.

What brings you fulfillment in life?

While there are many things that bring me fulfillment, there is none more impactful than family. And nothing even comes close.

My family and I recently visited the island of O’ahu. While there, we visited the Polynesian Cultural Center, a truly incredible experience for anyone who has never been. One thing that stood out to me was that throughout the day, the staff members and performers who work there do not address you as “brother,” or “sister” (common vernacular used in a church-affiliated organization), or even “sir” or “ma’am.” They address you as “family.”

I thought at first they just meant MY family that was with me (my wife, kids, and parents). But even in larger groups, they address everyone as “family.” And I realized it’s because they consider you part of their family. All of us as one big family.

For anyone who has spent a lot of time around Polynesian culture, it doesn’t take long to notice just how family-centered this wonderful culture is. Everything revolves around family. And it is powerful, purposeful, and profound.

It’s had me thinking a lot lately about my family. And while there are many “families” in my life (extended family, church family, work family, alumni group families, etc), I want to focus on the 3 that have brought me the most fulfillment in my life: family of origin, family I married into, and my own family.

Family of Origin- Fulfillment in Learning

My family of origin is the family I was born into and grew up in. It consisted of two loving parents, five boys and three girls. I am number five of eight children. Eight children… I’m going nuts enough with three of my own children. I have no idea how my parents managed to raise eight.

My family of origin has had tremendous impact on who I am as a person. These are people that with the exception of school and friends, I spent nearly 100% of my time with! And even then, since I was right smack dab in the middle of my family I always had siblings above and below me in school and friend groups as well. When you spend that much time around the same group of people, whether you like it or not, they have a profound impact on you. And with that impact comes fulfillment.

Now when I say fulfillment, I’m not necessarily talking about pleasure. I certainly don’t mean to suggest that everything was happy and wonderful and unicorns and rainbows. There’s nothing fulfilling about that. Fulfillment sometimes comes from making mistakes and learning hard lessons. It comes from stealing your brother’s awesome tear-away pants and wearing them to school to show off to your friends, only to get caught by your brother later and get home from school before him, put them back in his drawer, deny ever wearing them and convince him he must have been seeing things and spend the next few years bickering and fighting over whose clothes belong to whom. And then loving and playing with your brother anyways. Brett, if you’re reading this, after you left on your mission and explicitly told me not to wear any of your clothes you boxed up, well… 😁

There is a lot of learning that happens in your family of origin. Not just the natural learning that comes with growing up like how to walk, talk, read, write, etc, but also learning how to interact with all these people around you all the time.

But even though there was a lot of negative, some serious and some not so serious, the positive impact of learning how to love, care, forgive, laugh, and spend quality time together, vastly outweighs the negative. Fulfillment, negative and positive. Fulfillment that comes from learning.

Family I Married Into- Fulfillment in Relationships

Before my wife Amanda and ever I started dating back in college, I had a unique opportunity to meet a lot of Amanda’s family. I met Amanda’s sister Megan first, one of the most kind and loving people in existence. Amanda and I were just friends for a while, so I was nobody special, but Megan treated me like I was.

A few months later there was an opportunity to spend some additional time with Amanda in the form of offering to drive her and Megan from Provo to Centerville Utah to attend a cousins mission homecoming. Little did I realize just how amazing Amanda’s extended family was. I wasn’t even the “boyfriend” yet, but everyone treated me like I was already part of the family. I met a lot of her aunts and uncles and cousins and I’ll never forget the feelings of peace and happiness when I was with them. I could tell immediately that this family had a uniquely strong bond, and I wanted to be a part of it.

As time went on and I eventually became the boyfriend, then the fiánce, then the husband, of course I met all of the Dance (Amanda’s maiden name) family. Amanda’s parents have always treated me like their son (I even call them mom and dad) and Amanda’s brothers and sisters and their spouses are like brothers and sisters to me. I truly lucked out not just in the woman I married, but her family as well.

For the past 15 years I have found profound fulfillment in cultivating my relationships with the family I married into. I’ve watched as each family has grown in size, moved multiple times, changed jobs, graduated college, started businesses, struggled with illness, hurt, and sadness, and overcome these struggles with strength, power, and courage. I’ve had a front row seat to the highs and lows that life has brought to each family, and I’ve been able to spend time with, talk, laugh, cry, learn, grow, and strengthen each relationship all along the way. And it’s in these relationships I have found tremendous fulfillment.

My Own Family- Fulfillment in Love

Growing a family of your own is a never-ending fulfilling venture. After a few years of trying to figure out how to live life with the female species (emphasis on “trying”) and cultivating our marraige, we decided it was time to multiply. We turned our family into a family of 5.

This might seem obvious, but raising a family is HARD. Don’t ever believe those social media posts you see of your friends and their kids dressed nicely and smiling sweetly for a photo. That one photo is part of a much larger story involving clothing mishaps, last minute hair fixes, ringing eardrums from screaming 5 seconds before, multiple bags of fruit snacks and goldfish, and possibly some photoshop after the fact for the red tear soaked cheeks of the toddler whose nap time was 45 minutes ago.

There’s nothing pleasurable about changing pee-filled sheets at 3am, paying for broken car door handles, constantly cleaning up, feeling guilty for yelling and getting upset, or intensely worrying while you sit in a hospital room watching the doctor sew up a large gash in their forehead.

But I’m not talking about pleasure. I’m talking about fulfillment.

And while those examples of life experiences with children are difficult, stressful, and often heart-wrenching, they are absolutely fulfilling. Maybe not in the moment, but as part of the bigger picture of what it means to truly love and serve someone through those experiences. This loving bond that forms can never be broken.

There is no greater feeling of fulfillment in life than the love for a spouse and children. The intense service rendered in the name of family is the water and sunlight for a seed, the sweat and soreness for strength, and the matches and lighter fluid for a raging bonfire.

I’ve still got quite a ways to go with my own family. But whatever it is we go through, I know that the fulfillment we find in the love we share for each other will empower us to get through whatever comes our way.

Fulfillment in learning. Fulfillment in relationships. Fulfillment in love. There are many other things in my life that bring me fulfillment, but none quite like these. Family is constant. Family is forever.

Family is everything.

Mahalo wau i koʻu ʻohana.

Yes perhaps as I ponder events of the day, Then as long as I can without wavering say, “The best that I could with the time that I had,” Is fulfilling enough and sufficiently glad.

It seems there is not enough time in the day,
To say all the things that I wanted to say,
To do all the things that I planned in my head,
It’s midnight by now and the day is long dead.

I stretch and I learn and I listen and heal,
I love and I laugh and I cry and I feel,
I “bring home the bacon” as they often may say,
But perhaps they’re mistaken, this devious phrase,

My duty as father, as husband, as friend,
Fulfilling the tasks to provide and to fend,
Protecting and serving my loved ones until,
All their heads rest in silence on top of their pillow,

I look at my watch and my mind scurries ‘bout,
I’m now asking myself what can I do without?
Is it dishes? Or music? Or reading a book?
Or lay on the couch with a destitute look?

Who decided the length of the time of the day?
Who convened and unanimously voted yay?
“Oh it’s plenty of time” perhaps somebody spoke,
Were they mad or maliciously cracking a joke?

Or maybe they knew in the depths of their mind,
At the end of the day they’ll be tasks left behind,
They’ll be dishes stacked high, or a book left unread,
Or that musical tune will just stay in your head,

Yes perhaps as I ponder events of the day,
Then as long as I can without wavering say,
“The best that I could with the time that I had,”
Is fulfilling enough and sufficiently glad.

And my head on my pillow in silence of night,
Just the glow of my phone and the hallway dim light,
I think of a joke that my son said today,
I smile to myself as my mind slips away,

Time in the day? What concern is that of mine?
All I need is just a few precious moments,
Moments in time.

When approaching the goal and prepping for a shot, it is more important to accurately place the ball where you want it to go rather than just kick it as hard as you can at the goal.

The first sport we ever enrolled our kids into was T-ball. Zoe was 6 and Jett was 4.

I remember standing around Jett in the outfield during his first practice teaching him that when the ball was hit, his job was to go get the ball and throw it to first. Some teammates took turns practicing hitting the ball, and the a remaining hoard of fellow teammates in the outfield would all rush to the ball once it was hit. Whoever got it would throw it to 1st (sometimes it turned into a bit of a wrestling match to get the ball😂). We engrained it in Jett’s head: Get the ball, throw it to first. Get the ball, throw it to first. It didn’t take him long to figure it out. That’s my boy!

Then it was time to practice hitting off the tee. The coach places his feet in the correct position, shows him how to hold the bat, and instructs him to swing at the ball. Wham! Jett nails it! The coach and I start saying “Go Jett go!!”

So, Jett does as he was taught: Go get the ball, throw it to first!

Whoops.

The coach stops him before he throws it to first and we all laugh to ourselves as we realize our failure in properly instructing him what to do when hitting the ball.

I’ve said this before, but I love watching my kids play sports. It is one of the most rewarding experiences so far as a parent. If you read my most recent post, you’ll recall that this same Jett has taken quite a liking to sports, especially football, which has its own set of complicated rules for children to learn. I never played football as a kid, so it’s been interesting watching coaches teach children all of the many rules involved.

For a child playing a new sport, it’s exciting and challenging! They’re out there learning a new thing they’ve never done before and learning how to work together as a team to accomplish a goal. At first it can be quite confusing, but once it clicks and they start succeeding, it can be very fulfilling.

Soccer

One of the most common sports that parents put their kids in is soccer. The rules of soccer are fairly simple for kids: No touching the ball with you hands, kick the ball into that goal. Obviously there are more rules than that, but for small children starting out, that’s pretty much the only rules they remember (even then, the “no hands” rule is loosely followed for little ones!)

Watching young children play soccer can be wildly entertaining. Typically a hoard of children from both teams constantly follows the ball, like a herd of cats chasing a laser pointer, each kid trying to kick it the general direction of the opposite goal. These young children have it tough. Not only do they have to play against kids on the other team, but often it seems they are fighting their own teammates for the ball as well!

Now soccer was my main sport growing up. I loved it. I played it constantly. I knew all the rules and worked hard to improve my skills. Around the age of 12, I made it on to a competitive soccer team: Chugiak Soccer Club (CSC), in my community of Eagle River, Alaska. I made a lot of friends and great memories on this soccer team.

At one point, we had a German coach whose name escapes me, but he was a wonderful coach. He spent a lot of time with us running drills, practicing our shots, and telling us everything he could to help us improve individually and as a team. Of everything he taught us, there is one phrase I’ll never forget that he used to repeat over and over in regards to shooting the ball in the goal. He would say in his heavy German accent:

“Placement over power”

This meant that when approaching the goal and prepping for a shot, it is more important to accurately place the ball where you want it to go rather than just kick it as hard as you can at the goal.

In my own experience playing soccer, in my experience of watching others play soccer, and even occasionally in watching professional soccer, I have witnessed what happens when this advice is not followed. Often a powerful shot flies up and over the goal, or out of control straight towards the goalie. I used to struggle with this all the time. In the heat of the moment, in the excitement of a breakaway, you just kick the ball as hard as you can and hope it goes in! Then I’d stand back and wonder how I could have kicked the ball over the goal when I was 5 feet in front of it, or how out of all the open goal spaces I could have kicked the ball into, I just had to kick it straight at the goalie…

Training myself to value a properly placed and accurately shot ball over a powerful fast kick, was a skill that had to be learned.

Goal Setting Takes Practice

When it comes to goal setting, I try to visualize my “goal.” The actual width of a professional soccer goal is 24 feet wide. But if I’m actually wanting to score, I can’t just shoot towards that wide opening and hope the ball goes in (keep in mind there’s a goalie!). Instead, my target within that goal must be much smaller and then accurately executed. I’m no professional althelte by any means, but I think that most soccer players would agree that aiming towards a lower or upper corner is ideal for scoring, a task that can be quite difficult to accomplish without a lot of practice.

Now this isn’t to say that just because you lack training and practice means that you don’t take shots. As the great philospher, Michael Scott, once said:

“‘You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take’-Wayne Gretzkey” -Michael Scott😁

For heaven’s sake, if you’re headed towards the goal and you have the opportunity, practice or no practice, take the shot! Ready or not here you go! That’s actually your best learning moment, your best training opportunity.

But placement over power is a better “goal” executing strategy, and not just for soccer.

When it comes to setting goals, I’m not great at it myself. New Years rolls around, I write down a few goals or things I’d like to accomplish, that lasts for a few weeks, and then it’s back to normal life. And the problem is, my goals tend to be too widely set, too broad or too vague. I don’t plan a strategy for execution. I loose motivation. I hope I’m not the only one that feels this way.

However the few times in my life that I’ve set a goal, made a plan, and executed that plan, those moments feel amazing. Just like scoring a soccer goal!

My Triathlon

My triathlon last month is a good example of this. The nice thing about something like a triathlon is that there is a set date and set amount of money I pay for the event. This is motivating for me. So I made a plan-

Mondays I ran.

Tuesdays I biked.

Wednesdays I rested.

Thursdays I swam.

Fridays I ran.

Saturdays I biked.

Sundays I rested.

I wasn’t perfect at it, but for the most part I followed this schedule. As it got closer, I was worried I wouldn’t be ready, especially for the swim (See my post from last month about that!). But when race day came, although it was very tough and my time wasn’t great, I did it! The feeling was exhilarating! I was very proud of myself for setting a goal, planning how to accomplish that goal, and executing it.

I suppose I could have POWERED through it. I could have neglected training and practice and when race day came just hit it as hard as I could and hoped for the best. But I doubt I would have succeeded, or even finished.

Sometimes no matter what you do, the goalie is just too good and will still block your shot. The obstacles are just too great and you won’t quite acheive your goal. Your carefully laid plans get ruined. The world sometimes has a way of making this happen. And thats good practice too. But properly placed, planned, and executed goals will have an increased probability of success.

I hope some day I can run into my old German soccer coach again and thank him for the life-long impactful lesson of placement over power.

In the mean time, as I cheer from the sidelines, I’ll keep enjoying watching my kids take their shots, however those shots turn out.

Jesus invites us to become like little children. Not childish, but childlike- aspiring to have attributes that children naturally possess.

Have you ever given your child a balloon and watched their face light up with immeasurable happiness, only to be completely distraught moments later when the balloon pops?

I find myself thinking about my childhood often. Sometimes it’s when I’m tired of adulting and briefly wishing I could return to those days of simplicity. Other times it’s when I’m with my own children remembering that their childhood memories are being made right now and these will be the memories they will look back on years later.

Which memories will stick with them? What will they think about their childhood? How will they remember it?

There was a period of time as a very young parent I remember thinking I’m glad they’re so little and probably won’t remember this horrible parenting mistake I just made! My youngest is now 7 so it’s safe to say that time has passed. Their long term memory has come online. They will remember things that happen now, a thought that scares me sometimes. And I don’t get to pick and choose what those memories will be.

A lot of my childhood memories are extremely happy ones. Exploring the woods by my house. Building 3-story tree houses in the forrest (and somehow surviving). Riding my bike with friends or by myself around the neighborhood. Playing games in the street at night with other neighborhood kids. Playing sports with my brother or friends. Hiking in the beautiful Alaska mountains around my house. I feel fortunate to have grown up in a time when on Saturdays and summer break, as long as my chores were done, I would pretty much be gone all day and back in time for dinner. I had lots of freedom to play. I was a 90’s kid.

Some of that is lost now days, depending on where you live I suppose. It’s a different time to be a kid.

My children are young and innocent, I want to preserve that.

My children are impressionable and trusting, I want to protect that.

My children are curious and adventurous, I want to nurture that.

Preserve. Protect. Nurture.

Some quick examples with my children:

I like watching sports with my boys, especially football. We have a rule when we watch sports that when commercials are on, we mute the commercials. Not that there is anything wrong with commercials, I just don’t need all of that unnecesary extra noise and information filling up their heads. Instead we chat, or go get a snack, or play around until the game is back on.

Another football example. Right now Jett plays flag football. He loves it, and if I say so myself, he’s quite good at it! One of the highlights of my week is watching him play and revel in his passion. Last year after he finished his 2nd season of flag football, he expressed interest in playing tackle football. My wife and I considered it, but ultimately decided against it for the time and put him back in flag football this year. We want to protect him from potential physical injury for just a little bit longer.

My daughter Zoe earlier this year got involved in local musical theater. She had never done a play before, and since both my wife and I have, we took the time to help her with her audition for Matilda the Musical Junior. We assisted her during the audition process. She was very expressive and energetic throughout the audition, and we were blown away when she was cast as Matilda understudy! Zoe never really needed any push from us to memorize lines, learn dance moves, and play a character, she is quite the creative spirit, but we wanted to nurture this passion she had so we took time to run lines, talk to her about acting, and invest financially and physically to make it happen. Having spent a lot of time in theater productions in my youth, I know what kind of challenging environment the theater can be. And for this I was grateful it was a 20 minute drive to and from rehearsals, plenty of time to talk to Zoe about her experiences and discuss new or interesting people or ideas she hadn’t been exposed to yet.

The Family Unit

One of the most important documents in my lifetime is The Family: A Proclamation To The World.

Unfortunately in today’s world, these ideas are often viewed as old fashioned, out dated, or irrelevent in society. I believe the family unit is more relevent now than ever before. And it’s within that family unit, children must be taught, protected, nutured, and prepared for life after childhood. We all come from different backgrounds and ideals, have different families and beliefs, and different individual experiences within those families that will heavily determine the choices we make and the path we will follow in life.

I come from a big family, I’m number 5 of 8 kids. I consider myself lucky to have a mother and father who love and care for me. I know that even now if my life got flipped turned upsidedown (🎵”I’d like to take a minute just sit right there”🎵😁) I could count on them and my siblings to be there for me and help me. I know the importance of preserving, protecting, and nurturing children within a family unit because I lived it as a child and teenager. And because I lived it and saw the value in it, I made choices in my life to do the same with my own family.

These are some of the choices I’ve made

1. Talk to my children. When I’m home and my children are around, I try to get off my phone and go talk to them. Play with them. Be with them. All the to-do lists will get done, all the tasks will get completed. But those things are not as important as the limited time I have to spend with my children. I’m not great at this myself, but the days I do come home from work and immediately put my phone away upstairs and don’t touch it again until my alarm goes off the next morning, those are the days I hope my children remember. I hope that talking to my children will heighten my chances of them still talking to me, trusting me, and listening to me during the teenage years when friends and outside forces start pulling them in other directions. Also I hope it will open up opportunities to have conversations with my children, together as parents, that need to be had to prepare my children for adulthood. I hope we become an impactful voice to guide them to success and happiness for when they’re on their own.
2. Listen to my children. They will tell me what’s on their mind if I will listen. When they’re little, sometimes it’s just a bunch of nonsense and gibberish, but every now and then, a gold nugget of profound importance reveals itself. Just the other night I was laying with my 7 year old son in bed at bedtime, just talking about his day, he was telling me about a bunch of random thoughts on his mind, none of which was of any real importance, but all of a sudden he asked me, “Dad, what happens when we die?” I responded, “What do you think happens when we die?” He said, “I know we go to heaven, but… is it scary?” “Is what scary?” I said. “When we die, is it scary? I’m scared to die.” We talked a little more about death and fear and happiness and love and family, and it was a great little conversation we had. And it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been spending time with him, listening to him.
3. Say no. Sometimes my children come up with some weird ideas. I have to remember I’m interacting with someone who’s brain is not fully developed and cannot make rational decisions on their own. I’m talking to people who still believe in the tooth fairy and Santa Claus (although I think Zoe has figured it out). My children may not have the ability to distinguish fantasy from reality yet. They will experiment. They’ll ask odd questions and have bad ideas. Not long ago, my son threw the cat on the trampoline and bounced it around. The poor cat was terrified and clawed it’s way to the opening in the net and scurried off traumatized. When I asked why he did that, he looked at me blankly and simply said “I don’t know!” So we had to make a rule: No Cats On The Trampoline. We try to establish rules, structure, and guidelines. Sure they’ll break them, they’ll rebel, they’ll figure out clever ways around them (I’m mainly speaking from my own experience there) but at least they’ll have that structure in place and then get to live with the consequences of making bad choices.
4. Love- No Matter What. My daughter Zoe and I have a little phrase we say to each other every night when I go in to say goodnight. I say “I Love You- N-M-Dub,” and she repeats it back to me. N-M-Dub or N-M-W which stands for No Matter What. No matter if I got upset at her, no matter if she made a mistake, no matter if we are busy or feeling sad or had a bad day. I will always love her, all my children, No Matter What.

Jesus’ Invitation

Mathew 18:1-6

1 At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?
2 And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them,
3 And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.
4 Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
5 And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.
6 But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.

Children are humble. Children are charitable. Children are loving, kind, forgiving, and innocent. Jesus invites us to become like little children. Not childish, but childlike- aspiring to have attributes that children naturally possess.

If I could choose to wave a magic wand and return to childhood today, as much as I might be tempted, I wouldn’t do it. I’d rather keep those innocent childhood memories with me in my head and my heart for when I need them most. I’d rather accept Jesus’ invitation to become like a little child.

And hopefully my own children can hold on to that balloon just a little bit longer before it pops.

To those that have taken the time to learn and carry with them years of practicing piano… it almost feels like a superpower. A gift you’ve been given. A gift that keeps on giving. The musical version of teaching a man to fish.

Did your parents ever say “You’ll be grateful someday!” when trying to get you to do something you did not want to do?

I heard this over and over again in my youth. Particularly when it came to practicing piano.

Growing up, we had the wonderful blessing of a full grand piano in our home. We kept it tuned and clean, and with 8 kids in the family, it seemed like it was constantly being played. Everyone in my family took piano lessons. Everyone. We honestly had no choice in the matter. It was part of life.

I cycled through many different piano teachers, each of them with their own unique teaching style.

My first piano teacher was a middle aged man that would come to our house and have 30 minute lessons with each kid. My 4 older siblings would go first, and me being 5-6 years old, would go last. The entire process would take 2 1/2 hours. I was quite young, but I do remember that his teaching style was very passive. Or maybe he was just tired after 2 hours of my older siblings hammering wrong notes while the echos of other kids screaming elsewhere in the house reverberated into his brain (sometimes he would wear ear plugs… haha). He would place my music book in front of me on the piano, then sit back in a chair, his glasses poised on the end of his nose, and read a book. As I played the notes in front of me, any time I fumbled or hit a wrong note, I would hear from behind me a soft, monotone voice quietly mumble “whoops,” eyes still fixed to his book, glasses still perched on his nose. There was no movement, no further comments or words to elaborate, and I was left to figure out what I messed up on and try again. “Whoops,” again. “Whoops,” over and over as I stumbled through my music. He was a professional pianist himself and I’m sure a wonderful teacher, but at the time I did not think so.

My family later moved to Alaska and I filtered through several piano teachers over the years. As good as the teachers were, and as much as I enjoyed goofing off on the piano with my siblings at home, and especially as I got to my pre-teen years, I absolutely HATED piano lessons. I dreaded going. I hated learning technique and music theory. I hated the feeling of knowing I hadn’t practiced what I was supposed to last week, and I had to pretend or lie that I had. I’m sure they just rolled their eyes while I unconvincingly professed my diligence in practicing the correct fingering and dynamics of my assigned songs.

I wanted to quit.

Quitting piano in my family was not an option. “Stick to it,” my parents would say. “You’ll be grateful someday!”

“No I won’t!” I would respond. “I hate piano!” This was an obvious lie as I very much enjoyed playing piano. I just didn’t like LESSONS!

One piano teacher I had got so fed up with me not practicing, she refused to teach me anymore. She told my mom that every week I would show up to play the same assigned songs and make the same mistakes and concluded I was obviously not practicing. Now my parents were very diligent in making sure their children accomplished all of their tasks on a daily basis: chores, dishes, homework, making our bed, and of course, 30 minutes of practicing piano. Each kid. Each day. Like I said, the piano was constantly being played in our home. So when this particular piano teacher kept explaining to my parents that I obviously wasn’t practicing, after further investigation they learned that the mere sound of piano in the background at home didn’t necessarily mean I was practicing the assigned music given to me. They learned I was spending most of my piano practice time making up tunes and playing songs I liked by ear. Things didn’t improve and she refused to teach me anymore. And I don’t blame her, I was not a good student.

However, I remember towards the beginning of my senior year having an “Aha!” moment. By this time, despite my best efforts, I had become fairly accomplished on the piano. Not just in the assigned music I was forced to memorize in my lessons, but also at my ability to sight read, play songs by ear, and make up songs on the spot. One day at school I was sitting at the piano in the choir room during lunchtime playing around on the piano. At one point I looked up and there were about 10 girls gathered around me, listening, smiling, and singing along to whatever I was playing. In my teenage girl-driven brain, I very much liked this situation. What I probably lacked in looks and charm with the ladies, I seemed to be making up for in musical abilities.

Abilities that would not be there without more than a decade of dreaded, awful, annoying, frustrating… wonderful piano lessons.

I found myself saying in my mind “thank you mom and dad!”

I hated to admit it, but turns out they were right. I WAS grateful for piano lessons. All the googley eyes that surrounded me in that choir room were proof of that!

I still managed to get out of piano lessons when my parents decided that the only way I could quit lessons was to teach piano to others. I happily did. I had 3-4 beginning students who would come over to our house and I’d “teach” them (I had no idea what I was doing). But it got me out of having to go to lessons myself, so I was perfectly happy with this arrangement (And I didn’t mind the money!)

I don’t consider myself an accomplished piano teacher, but I have taught several times, mostly to kids. It’s interesting being on the other side of the piano, per se. The frustration of teaching kids that don’t want to be there, or don’t practice and as a result, don’t improve. Who’dathunk. I knew some of these kids were begging their parents to quit. Of course, I could relate. Some of the parents did let their kids quit.

Every person I’ve ever met that quit piano lessons as a kid regrets it. Without question. They wish they’d have stuck it out. They wish their parents had pushed them a little harder, maybe forced them a little longer. They look back at the piano as a valuable skill they could have learned and used throughout their life. But they didn’t. And picking it up again as an adult just isn’t the same. Not to discourage anyone from doing that, but it’s much easier to learn piano as a kid (and it’s free!).

Someone recently posted this, and I really liked it:

“Music is science.
Music is mathematical.
Music is foreign language.
Music is history.
Music is physical education.
Music develops insight and demands research.
Music is all these things, but most of all, music is art.
That is why we teach music. Not because we expect you to major in music. Not because we expect you to play or sing all your life. But so you will be human. So you will recognize beauty. So you will be closer to an infinite beyond this world. So you will have something to cling to. So you will have more love, more compassion, more gentleness, more good. In short, more LIFE.”

And in my opinion, the quickest and best way to experience music is through the piano. Not just to listen and have a love for music, but to know and understand how that music came to be. The piano is the foundation for all things musical. If you can play the piano, you can pick up any instrument and learn it. You can learn to sing. You can learn rhythm. You can gain a greater appreciation for music.

And eventually you can create. You can make up something that’s never existed before. There are 88 keys on the piano and infinite ways to play them. Infinite rhythms, notes, tempos, chords, combinations and melodies to compose. The piano is an extension of feelings. Like a dancer expressing outwardly what they feel inwardly with movement, the piano expresses innermost feelings and thoughts outwardly through the fingers to the ivory keys banging hammers on strings. The result is original, powerful, authentic music, that can be shared, felt, and connected with anyone who listens. You can’t listen to someone play the piano and NOT feel something.

I remember those girls surrounding me at the piano in the choir room asking me afterwards how I was able to play by ear, or make up songs on the spot like that. I had a hard time explaining because for me it was simple. Just variations of basic I, IV and V7 chords that almost every song is structured around, and throwing in improve notes in the scales of the key signature. It honestly wasn’t a big deal, and trust me, I’m no piano prodigy here (for that, you’d have to look to my brother Jarom, one of those weirdos that loved piano lessons…).

To the untrained eye, the piano must look so strange. Like a foreign object. Like when I look at computer code (even after one semester of learning Java in college). Or anyone looking at or listening to any foreign language. Just complete gibberish.

But of course to those that have taken the time to learn and carry with them years of practicing piano, by choice or by force, it almost feels like a superpower. A gift you’ve been given. A gift that keeps on giving. The musical version of teaching a man to fish.

If you’re a kid in piano lessons, keep it up. I know it sucks. Scales and chords and theory… bleh. But it’s worth it. If you’re a parent with a kid taking lessons, don’t let them quit. It’s worth it. They will tell you when they’re older how grateful they are you kept them in piano lessons. I promise you.

In my adult years I’ve always strived to have a piano in our home. Not a grand piano (I wish!) but something I can play and my own kids can practice on. I didn’t turn into a professional pianist or singer or musician. But I have the foundation of piano underneath me, and with a piano in our home, I’ve been able to play, compose, write, perform, make videos, play with my kids, make up silly songs with them, and enjoy the substantial blessings that a piano brings into the home.

There’s something about playing the piano quietly, especially at night once the kids are in bed, that sooths the soul, warms the home, and heals the stress and axiety of the day.

Imagine if everyone played the piano. If everyone could end their day that way. It might not result in significant life changes, but it would bring more peace to a world that desperately needs it.

And to my parents, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:

I’m grateful I leaned the piano.