I had once played both piano and organ, but when family responsibilities became heavy, I quit playing. Then, after many years without performing, I received a call from an old friend, asking me to play the organ for her husband's funeral.
My heart reached out to her, and as much as I wanted to help her, I had to tell her no. She'd also asked my daughter to sing, so I found out that one of the pieces was an arrangement of "The Lord's Prayer." The organist who'd agreed to play asked if someone else could play that piece. This time my daughter was the one to call me and ask me to play.
Again, the idea struck me with fear. Even when I was playing regularly, performing had made me very nervous. Now I was rusty, and there would be little time to practice. But I really wanted to do something for my friend. I knew how comforting the Lord's Prayer was. I swallowed hard and said yes.
When I looked at it, the piece was well beyond my capacity with only hours to learn it. One fear after another knocked at the door of my thought, but I decided not to open it. My motive was love, and I've found that when your motive is right, you can count on God's support. I thought of Mary Baker Eddy's statement in "Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures," "Right motives give pinions to thought, and strength and freedom to speech and action" (p. 454).
I knew that infinite Mind is the source of wisdom and ability – always sufficient for every emergency – and I prayed to recognize myself as inseparable from Mind. I thought about David running with his five stones and a sling to meet Goliath. And I was inspired by Moses and the children of Israel, who faced the Red Sea, walked into the water, and saw it part. I trusted that my sea would part.
When fear suggested that my ineptness could turn a beautiful piece of music into something ugly and ruin the service for my friend, I remembered that my offering was love, and that offering could never be destroyed by error. I chose to keep love, not fear or doubt about my ability, in my thought. That would be my gift to my friend.
I practiced calmly, simplifying the harder parts. Sometimes I remembered my adjustments, sometimes I didn't. When I wondered if I would remember, I thought of music as a spiritual idea existing in divine Mind, who knows and never forgets. I went to bed, filling my thought with God's dependability.
I struggled when rehearsing with my daughter. Another fear knocked. I didn't want to destroy her confidence and cause her to have problems. I explained that God was seeing to the music, and she seemed to accept that.
As we rehearsed the day before, I was tired and played terribly, forgetting what I'd done to simplify the music. Still I refused to buy into the fear. Hadn't I refuted all its arguments? I went to bed thinking of this line from Science and Health: "Divine Love always has met and always will meet every human need" (p. 494). I fell comfortably asleep.
In the morning, I awoke feeling calm, trusting that music wasn't in my fingers, but was an idea in divine Mind, of which human perception has only a hint. Science and Health says: "If mortals caught harmony through material sense, they would lose harmony, if time or accident robbed them of material sense. To be master of chords and discords, the science of music must be understood" (p. 304).
At the funeral, my part went perfectly. When friends complimented me, I told them that it was the grace of God that provided the music.
Driving home, I was awestruck. I realized that God, who ordered the harmony of the stars, maintains every note, every right idea, in its place. This experience, which has restored my ability to play, has changed the way I look at things that seem beyond me. If God could supply what I needed in this case, I can expect inspiration, confidence, and a wealth of ideas to ripple out new blessings, not just for me but for others also.