Becoming Mary

I watch my Littlest ascend the platform, graceful in cranberry satin and black velvet, her tiny violin tucked beneath one arm. She waits. Looks at the director. The piano plays an introduction. She lifts the violin, dark eyes steady, fingers poised.

The director nods, and she begins. This song she has played every day for weeks. This song that is second nature and must visit in her dreams. But the notes do not fit. She looks at the director as the piano plays on. Her fingers search the strings for notes. Any notes that will fit this moment. My Littlest stands very straight, dark eyes steady, even as my throat begins to tighten, my mind race.

The pianist suddenly remembers what key she should be playing in and switches to G. Too late, for now the director is whispering to my Littlest. "Can you play it in D?" Dark eyes steady, my Littlest fumbles to a new string and searches for notes to fit this moment. She finds the tune, but still the notes do not fit. I am sinking into the back of my chair. Breathing quickly. Choking back tears.

After what seems an eternity, the piano and violin come together in the key of D. My Littlest stares, quietly plays this song she has played every day for weeks. This song that is second nature and must visit in her dreams. But who knows any of this? My Littlest looks to be a child who couldn't find the right notes to fit this moment.

And suddenly, in some small, very small way, I think of how Your mother Mary must have felt. As you walked into a world ready to share a grace that You had known forever. But so many people could not see this. Could not hear the beauty of Your song.