First Baptist Church of North Channel

I will be honest with you, there are many times that struggles seem to doom everything around me. The last few weeks fit that description. As I sit here today, I was reminded of a story told by Charles Swindoll. When I recall this story, it refreshes me and makes me more thankful. May it have the same effects for you, too?

   Ignace Jan Paderewski, the famous composer and pianist, was scheduled to perform at a great concert hall in America. It was an evening to remember - black tuxedos and long evening dresses, a high society extravaganza. Present in the audience that evening was a mother with her fidgety nine-year-old son. Weary of waiting, he squirmed constantly in his seat. His mother was in hopes that her son would be encouraged to practice the piano if he could just hear the immortal Paderewski at the keyboard. So - against his wishes - he had come.

  As she turned to talk with friends, her son could stay seated no longer. He slipped away from her side, strangely drawn to the ebony concert grand Steinway and its leather tufted stool on the huge stage flooded with blinding lights. Without much notice from the sophisticated audience, the boy sat down at the stool, staring wide-eyed at the black and white keys. He placed his small, trembling fingers in the right location and began to play "Chopsticks." The roar of the crowd was hushed as hundreds of frowning  faces pointed in his direction. Irritated and embarrassed, they began to shout: "Get that boy away from there! Who'd bring a kid that young in here? Where's his mother? Somebody stop him!"

   Backstage, the master, Paderewski, overheard the sounds out front and quickly put together in his mind what was happening.                                               

  Hurriedly, he grabbed his coat and rushed toward the stage. Without one word of announcement he stooped over behind the boy, reached around both sides, and began to improvise a counter melody to harmonize with and enhance "Chopsticks.' As the two of them played together, Paderewski kept whispering in the boy's ear: "Keep going. Don't quit. Keep on playing... don't stop...don't quit."

   And so it is with us. We hammer away on our project, which seems about as insignificant as "Chopsticks" in a concert hall. And about the time we are ready to give up, along comes the Master, who leans over and whispers;”Now keep going; don't quit. Keep on...don't stop; don't quit," as He improvises on our behalf, providing just the right touch at just the right moment. 

   His touch - nothing like it!