What’s so special about mustard seed?

BirdInMustardTree“Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and sowed in his field: Which indeed is the least of all seeds: but when it is grown, it is the greatest among herbs, and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof.” (Matt. 13:31-32 KJV)

“And the Lord said, If ye had faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye might say unto this sycamine tree, Be thou plucked up by the root, and be thou planted in the sea; and it should obey you.” (Luke 17:6)

Jesus said the kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed. He also said, if you had faith as a grain of mustard seed you could do miracles.

Why did he use mustard seed to compare those things?

Mustard seed, he said, is the least of all seeds. And it is tiny, very tiny. But if left alone to grow, that one tiny seed will make a bushy tree large enough for birds to nest. Okay, that’s pretty neat.

But that’s not the most important thing about a grain of mustard seed. Not the essential thing.

The seed has to be alive or it won’t grow. You can prepare the soil, plant the seed with care, water and feed it, cultivate and weed it. But if the seed is dead, it will just rot in the ground. It must be alive.

Seeds are fascinating to me. Do you know where all the plants on earth came from, to begin with?

“Then God said, ‘Let the earth sprout vegetation, plants yielding seed, and fruit trees on the earth bearing fruit after their kind with seed in them’; and it was so.” (Gen. 1:11, NASB)

Also notice: “Then God said, ‘Let the earth bring forth living creatures after their kind: cattle and creeping things and beasts of the earth after their kind’; and it was so.” (Gen. 1:24 NASB)

So, did God make the plants first? Or did he make the seeds first? Interesting question! Actually he made the dirt first. The seeds were contained in the earth itself. Plants and animals came from that earth, including Adam himself.

The point is this: God imparted life to the seeds. Every seed of every kind since then has needed that supernatural, God-given life to survive and to thrive. Even the tiniest of mustard seeds. (Of course, if you never plant a seed… you know what I mean.)

Well, where does the kind of faith Jesus meant come from? It’s not the normal, ordinary, human-only belief. This faith is a gift, freely-given but requiring a willing recipient. Grace is free, but it’s not automatic.

Jesus was blunt when he confronted his own disciples about their lack of faith. Didn’t they have it? If they did, most of them didn’t exhibit it on those occasions.

Only Peter walked on water, the rest didn’t even attempt to. Mustard-seed faith, even that tiniest of tiny faith, was powerful enough to create the entire universe. And later it would be powerful enough to take the Gospel around the world.

Over the years I’ve written and taught a lot about seeds, and about faith. Here are links to several of those articles. Hope you’ll click and read.

Dutch Sheets: Worth Waiting For: ‘My Weighty Presence and My Heavyweights’

Worth Waiting For: “My Weighty Presence and My Heavyweights” Dutch Sheets, Dallas, TX

Some of us probably don’t catch it as we read the Scriptures. Moses and his servant, Joshua, waited on Mount Sinai for 6 days before the Lord called to Moses and invited him into the cloud of God’s glory. Have you ever wondered what these two men did during those 6 days, while God remained silent?

We often don’t realize either, that after Moses had disappeared into the cloud, young Joshua remained on the mountain – alone, amidst the cloud of thunderous lightning – for another 34 days. It was possibly this season that caused him to be such a lover of God’s presence. Once they had come down from the mountain, even after Moses would leave the tent of meeting, Joshua would remain inside as the cloud of the Lord’s glory hovered over it.

Scripture does not tell us exactly what Joshua did during these times in or near God’s presence, but it was in the context of studying these fascinating passages from the book of Exodus that the Lord spoke these five words to me: “Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.” There are several words and definitions of the Hebrew words for wait. As I heard each “wait,” I knew in my spirit which meaning He was emphasizing.

Five “Waits”

1. The first “wait” the Lord spoke to me means to wait with quiet trust. It is a form of waiting that is built upon deep relational trust. When we have come to know the Lord well enough, our hearts can be still and trust in Him in the midst of life’s worst storms. Papa Moses may have influenced young Joshua in this area, but Joshua knew enough about the goodness and faithfulness of the Lord for himself, that he didn’t need for God to speak to Him or show Him any wonders in order for Him to be at peace within the cloud that terrified others.

2. The second “wait” is the more commonly thought of, waiting patiently. It is from the place of trust developed through intimate relationship that we come to know, without a doubt, that God will eventually come through, and we are content in the waiting. When I had my first vision of awakening about 25 years ago, had I known that it would take this long to see the beginnings of it, I might not have been very patient to wait for it. But if He were to tell me right now that I have to wait another 25 years to see the fullness of this next great move of God, I can wait for it patiently. I have walked with the Lord long enough to know that He is always faithful to His promises, and He is always right.

3. The third “wait” implies an active faith. We may possess a deep relational trust in God, but that faith requires action. We must wait on the Lord with action while being full of expectancy for what He has promised, rather than just sitting back and hoping or wondering if He will come through. Your assurance that God will move compels you to live a life of radical obedience, make bold declarations, and take risky steps of faith without losing heart if there is a prolonged season before seeing any fruit. You rest assured in God’s promise that you and your generations will reap of what you sow.

4. The fourth “wait” means to be braided together with something or someone. This is the kind of waiting referred to in Isaiah 40:31, “Those who wait on the Lord will renew their strength.” Wait here is translated from qavah in Hebrew, which means “to bind together by twisting; to become braided together.” Through this waiting we become one with the Lord. In the waiting process that occurs from a relational position, the Lord draws us close to Him in such a way that our hearts become one. Bound together like the strands of a cord, we feel the same emotions and think the same thoughts, resulting in a multiplication of strength for accomplishing His will.

It is the fulfillment of Proverbs 16:3, “Roll your works on the Lord, commit and trust them completely to Him, and He will cause your thoughts to become agreeable with His will. And so shall your plans be established and succeed.” (Amplified Version)

5. The last “wait” the Lord spoke to me, I heard loudly in my spirit. But then the Lord actually spelled it out for me. It wasn’t “wait,” it was: W-E-I-G-H-T. This refers to the heavy, substantive, weighty presence of God’s glory. The Hebrew word for glory actually means heavy or weighty.

“My ‘Weighty’ Presence on My ‘Heavyweights'”

The Lord is saying, “If you will learn to wait on Me in these days – trusting, patiently, expectantly and becoming one with Me – I will come with the weight of My glory. I am coming to awaken cities and regions, and I will cause My weighty, shekinah, abiding glory to dwell among you and within you. Just as Adam was crowned with My glory and saturated in My presence, bearing My image and likeness, so too, will I crown you with My glory.

I will put My weighty presence on you, and you shall be My government in the earth. You will walk in great authority and power with signs, wonders and miracles following. As in the days of the book of Acts Church, people will recognize Me through you and you will say, such as I have, I give to you (Acts 3:6.) Now is the time for the sons of God to be made manifest in the earth and the whole earth filled with My glory! Now is the time; the masses are coming!”

For too long, we have lived far below the revelation God wants us to walk in. He’s now summoning us into a higher place of understanding, where we are fully aware that the God of glory lives inside of us, we are the temple of the Holy Spirit, and the same power that was in Jesus resides within us to perform and exceed His supernatural works. The Lord desires to raise up many “heavyweight” men and women, who carry the cloud of God’s glory into every room and into every sphere of society, to deliver and transform entire nations!

He is waiting on you. Are you willing to wait, wait, wait, wait on Him until the glorious weight of His presence and power intensifies within you? You may need to turn your TV or social media off for a season, or clear some things off your calendar so you can have more of Him, but I promise you, He is definitely worth waiting for.

Dutch Sheets
Dutch Sheets Ministries
Website: dutchsheets.org

Dutch Sheets is an internationally recognized author, teacher, and conference speaker. He travels extensively, empowering Believers for passionate prayer and societal transformation. Dutch has pastored, taught in several colleges and seminaries, and served on the board of directors of numerous organizations. Dutch’s greatest passion is to see America experience a sweeping revival and return to its godly heritage. Dutch is a messenger of hope for America, encouraging Believers to contend for awakening in our day and reformation in our lifetime. Dutch has written over 20 books, many of which have been translated into over 30 languages.

Source: Dutch Sheets: Worth Waiting For: ‘My Weighty Presence and My Heavyweights’

2016 – what will it be like?

Praying before sleep one night last week, I asked the Lord about next year. “What will it be like? Worse than 2015? More disasters, chaos, tragedies? More wars?”

“Appointments met,” he said. “Promises kept. Prophecies fulfilled. A year of kairos moments.”

Kairos – the appointed time, in due season, the fullness of time, at a fixed and definite time, for a certain time only.

It’s going to be an interesting year.

Different attacks, different weapons

PurseGunA .22 caliber revolver shared space in my purse with wallet and checkbook in the 1970’s. (In those days I didn’t need a permit to carry it.)

I’d been a crack shot with pistol, rifle and shotgun since my early teens, having been taught by my hunter grandfather Da and uncle Mike.

The lightweight .410 shotgun I used had originally belonged to my grandmother Mimi. Since she seldom fired it, as long as Da gave me proper instruction she was happy to relinquish it to her oldest grandchild, me.

(I must admit, however, I had cried after killing that first bird and refused to go hunting with Da again. See this post about granddaddy and me. https://scfamilymemories.wordpress.com/2015/06/21/spending-time-with-granddaddy/)

In the 70’s we lived way out in the middle of the county. It was thirteen miles from the nearest city limits, I worked ten miles further on than that, and having a gun in the car seemed like a good idea at first. After a while I got uncomfortable having it around with kids in the car, though, so I gave up carrying the pistol in my purse.

A hunting knife might have been a good alternative – I’d learned how to handle and throw one of those from Uncle Mike, too and my aim wasn’t bad. But the thought of getting cut, or cutting somebody else by accident, made me lightheaded. So, no hunting knife in my purse or car, either. I did carry a ladies Swiss Army knife for years, until the airlines banned them. I stashed it away in a dresser drawer.

Army, Navy or Air Force, my military heritage goes back to 1760, years before the Revolutionary War. Weapons for personal protection never made me nervous, as long as I was proficient and wise in their use, maintaining a good sense of legal and illegal, right and wrong. Good common sense, too.

Along the way I began to learn that Christians are targets for an all-too real enemy, a spiritual one. I began to learn about the Holy Spirit, the power of God, and the spiritual weapons available to believers. Some of those weapons are familiar: Prayer. Whole armor. Word of God. Blood of Christ.

But some others that you might not recognize as weapons, actually are. Worship. Forgiveness. Humility. Boldness. Patience. Peace. Authority. Discerning of Spirits. Gift of Faith. Miracles. Healing. Commands. The name of Jesus.

I learned that the enemy doesn’t always come at you overtly, with in-your-face attacks. Some of his attacks are subtle: Worry. Fear. Doubt. Self-pity. Pride. Temper tantrums. Boredom. Bad mood. Criticism. Gossip. Ridicule. Personality conflicts. Resentment. Offense.

Unpleasant or unseemly thoughts may seem to pop into your mind randomly. (Just remember this – “You can’t stop a bird from flying over your head, but you can keep it from making a nest in your hair.”)

And some accidents, actually aren’t. Like tripping over a child’s toy. Stumbling over broken concrete. Falling off a skateboard and breaking your arm. Losing your keys. Getting overdrawn at the bank because someone else’s check bounced. Missing critical appointments because of traffic jams. Becoming stressed out because another guy didn’t show up for work and you have to do their job and your own.

Some of those things aren’t attacks of the enemy, they’re just the way things are in a fallen world. But some of them are. They are designed to hinder you, steal your faith, stunt your growth, and wreck your testimony. They are aimed at keeping you from doing and being what you should. Sometimes they are designed to kill you.

  • On my way to work one morning, I was driving down a straight stretch of county road and about to pass a long driveway leading to a house way off the road. Down that lane another car was speeding towards me. Too late I realized that he wasn’t slowing down, that I couldn’t prevent us from colliding no matter whether I stomped on the brake or the accelerator. My heart was pounding as I braced myself and cried out, Jesus!

Instantly my car was a quarter mile further down the road! Glancing in the rear-view window, I saw the other car just turning onto the pavement behind me.

What had happened?

  • A woman attacked me in my office parking lot one day, shrieking and pounding on the back of my head for all she was worth. Why? Because I had called for a taxi instead of offering to drive her in my own car where she wanted to go. When I jerked around, what I saw in her face didn’t look human. I commanded her to Stop that! and Sit down! She backed up and sat down on the steps to the office building.

Someone called out, What’s going on, and I turned my head to answer them. In a flash she was back up, pounding on my head again. Once again I commanded her to Stop it! Once again she stopped, and this time took off running down the city street, high heels and all. When the taxi arrived I pointed the driver in her direction and he left to try to find her.

What had happened?

  • For several years I served on South Carolina’s State Board of Education, attending two-day meetings in the state capital once a month. Returning home on I-20 late one afternoon, I was traveling in heavy, fairly high-speed traffic when still many miles from home my car began to slow down on its own. I switched over to the slow lane as other drivers honked their horns at me. The car had plenty of fuel, the gas pedal wasn’t stuck, the engine light wasn’t on, and the heat gauge read normal. Trash in the fuel line? I was puzzled, to say the least.

Still slower and slower we went, until 35 miles per hour is the fastest the car would go. With a nervous eye on the traffic, I switched on the flashers and eased the car over into the emergency lane. Where was the nearest interchange, I wondered, and how long will it take me to get there? Will the car keep going till we get there?

Thankfully it was only a couple of miles and there was a service station there. Good, I thought, maybe somebody in there can help me. But while the clerks were all sympathetic, nobody was a mechanic. I phoned home and explained the situation. I would try to drive the car home using the emergency lane on the interstate the whole way.

Pleading the blood of Jesus, thanking the Lord for his protection and visualizing angels surrounding my car, that’s what I did. I sang praise and worship songs every slow mile of the way, arriving very late but safe and sound.

When my own mechanic took a look the next day, he just shook his head in amazement. This car shouldn’t have kept going, he said, it should have stopped dead in its tracks. The catalytic converter was completely clogged up. He traded the faulty part for a brand-new one, the car returned to its normal operating condition, and I gratefully paid his bill.

What had happened?

  • Although blind, my husband Tim Cox had graduated from Francis Marion University with a degree in business administration. He was president of our company and quite good at what he did, serving as salesman, P.R. rep and sometime trouble-shooter. But being blind did cause a problem when one friendly, plausible sales rep persuaded Tim to purchase at much-reduced rates a quantity of goods for our company. When I met the man and looked in his eyes, I immediately recognized a “wrong spirit.” But Tim didn’t. He thought the guy was fine and the deal would be beneficial to both parties, so he had our bookkeeper cut the check.

There were no goods forthcoming, however. The fellow was a con man. At first Tim thought we should just write off the financial loss, chalk it up to a hard lesson learned: discerning of spirits is absolutely necessary for a Christian running a business. But after we prayed about it, Tim began the lengthy process of filing a legal complaint, for the authorities to find and arrest the man, and for us to recover the money.

Eventually that did happen. That’s when we discovered the con man had defrauded many others in our area. Most were women, some of whom were embarrassed or humiliated to have been deceived and cheated like this. One had spent her savings to have a new roof put on her house; the workers never arrived.

Another was a widow who paid for the beautiful diamond ring her husband had ordered before his death (so the fellow told her). Of course, the ring never arrived either. Without Tim’s follow-through with the legal system, they would never have recovered their goods either.

If you’re a believer, you’re a target. You’re also an overcomer! That’s not automatic, though. It takes learning about the spiritual war we’re in, how to recognize the enemy’s devices, and how to make use of the efficient, unfailing weapons at our disposal.

Here are a few reminders:

  • Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it. (John 8:44 NASB)
  • The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly. (John 10:10)
  • So that no advantage would be taken of us by Satan, for we are not ignorant of his schemes. (II Cor. 2:11)
  • And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light. (II Cor. 11:14)
  • For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh, but divinely powerful for the destruction of fortresses. (II Cor. 10:4)
  • Wherefore be ye not unwise, but understanding what the will of the Lord is. (Eph. 5:17)
  • Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore, take up the full armor of God, so that you will be able to resist in the evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. (Eph. 6:11-13) … and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. (Eph. 6:17)
  • But solid food is for the mature, who because of practice have their senses trained to discern good and evil. (Heb. 5:14)
  • Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. (I Peter 5:8)
  • Submit therefore to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you. (James 4:7)
  • Ye are of God, little children, and have overcome them: because greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world. (I John 4:4 KJV)
  • And they overcame him because of the blood of the Lamb and because of the word of their testimony, and they did not love their life even when faced with death. (Rev. 12:11)

Who’s your daddy

My personal journey to know Abba Father, elder brother Jesus, and constant companion Holy Spirit is ongoing, very much a present-tense process. Every day I get to know him a little bit better. Every day he shows me himself  better, and also myself better – ways in which I should and can grow and mature.

He tends to change my thinking, change my agenda and change my itinerary! He always leads me to understand his ways better, and also to understand the ways of others better.

He shows me the world in all its complexities, both natural and spiritual, sometimes taking me behind the scenes to see what is really going on. That is sobering and at times I would prefer to avoid it. Necessary to intercede, he tells me, I’m right here, don’t be afraid.

Every day he is more fascinating to me, more terrifying, more affectionate, more… just more. The following was written years ago, as I tried to explain to puzzled friends my love for Daddy God.

BettyAndDaddyDowntown1944When I was two years old, I knew my daddy, in some ways. I knew him as a photographer, as mama, brother Harold and I were his frequent subjects.

But I didn’t know him as a WW II veteran of the US Army Air Force. I didn’t know him as an airplane pilot or airplane mechanic, small engine repairman or insurance salesman.

I didn’t know him as a brother, uncle or son, or as a husband, son-in-law or brother-in-law. I didn’t know him as a house painter, screen door fixer, lawn mower, or light-bulb replacer.

I didn’t know him as the recovering alcoholic who sponsored other men struggling with that addiction themselves. Or as a banjo player, barbershop quartet singer or ballroom dancer. Yet he was all those things, to other people.

To two-year-old me he was just a marvelous big creature who loved me. He was a smiler. A carrier-on-the-shoulder. A hugger and tickler who got down on the floor and played baby dolls with me, or wound up the wobbly spinning top for me, over, and over, and over.

He let me climb up in his lap when he was trying to read the newspaper, and he’d read the funnies out loud to me. He was a food taster who offered me little bites of his grown-up meals. He was a goofy “mareseatoats” song singer and a “once upon a time” story reader.

Betty and mama, 1944

Betty and mama, 1944

Sometimes he pointed that square box at me and called, “Smile,” which I probably did most of the time. I still have the black and white prints to prove it.

I didn’t really understand the definition of father yet but I knew the word daddy. And I knew my daddy, in all the facets of my two-year-old personal relationship with him, limited though they were.

A few years later I knew my daddy as mama’s best friend, who would dress up in a fancy suit and necktie and go somewhere with her, who herself was dressed up in a frilly dress and high heels. Off they’d go to some place I couldn’t go. Baby sitter time.

He was the chauffeur to any places we went as a family, the bill-payer when we went to the movies or out to eat, the final declarer of the absolutely perfectly decorated Christmas tree, the slow present opener who (like so many other gentleman of his era) used his pocket knife to carefully unstick the scotch tape and avoid tearing or wrinkling up the wrapping paper.

I also knew daddy as occasional nay-sayer and occasional deep thinker. Can I, daddy, can I have that? might result in long moments of deep thought before daddy’s well-meditated “no” answer was forthcoming, complete with reasonable, logical explanation. Only in cases of youngster temper-tantrum threats did he resort to “because I said so,” but if daddy said so, it was so.

In my pre-teen years I got to know daddy as a good tic-tac-toe player, Chinese checker player and monopoly player. I got to hear him play his banjo and sing four-part harmony.

HMotte@SanbornHotel0001Daddy’s camera and tripod were never far away. He took this shot of himself in the lobby of the Sanborn Hotel in downtown Florence, probably during one of those “dress-up” occasions with mama.

I also discovered that mama and daddy weren’t always in perfect agreement – sometimes they had slightly loud discussions, at least that’s what they called them. Not yelling, not arguing, not fighting, but discussing points of view that sometimes clashed. I never listened and therefore I have no clear idea what those differences were all about. It’s probably just as well. (Conflict between them disturbed me greatly, they knew it and so those disagreements usually took place out of my ear-shot.)

In my early teens, I began to know daddy as the family bread-winner who sometimes couldn’t work, who was suffering from service-related heart disease, caused by rheumatic fever contracted during WWII. He died of a heart attack when I was 16 years old.

I never got the chance to know daddy in all the many adult roles other people knew. A few people have shared with me over the years about daddy as their friend. He was a valued friend to many. My mother never really recovered from losing her best friend, lover and husband, and I never really recovered from losing my daddy.

Over the years I have come to realize that daddy was a multi-faceted personality, including a multi-faceted father to my brother and me. I knew him, but not as well as I would have liked, and the opportunity to know him better ended for me in 1960.

But I have another daddy! God the father – Abba, daddy – who I also know, though not as well as I would like. That opportunity is still open to me, and I want to learn more and more about the many facets of Father God’s personality, and my relationship to Him.

Not just know ABOUT him, the way I know about my earthly daddy from relatives and friends, I want to KNOW him. I believe He wants that, too.

Aunt Myrtle Played for Silent Movies

More about Aunt Myrtle

SC Family Memories

Colonial TheaterMyrtle Veronica Motte Snyder Boekhout was my daddy’s sister. She was born in November 1900 and died in March 1984. She was quite a personality. She is why I have been a musician most of my life.

Aunt Myrtle played for silent movies, she told me many years ago. Last year I asked her son Bill Snyder if it was true. “Yes,” he said, “she played for the silent movies, probably in New Orleans in the 19-teens.” I wondered where in New Orleans that might have been but Bill didn’t know.

Since then I’ve found that probably Myrtle played for the silent movies right here in Florence. She was too young when her family moved permanently back to South Carolina (her father’s home state) to have played for New Orleans movies. But Florence had quite a few theaters in the 19-teens and Myrtle was the right age to have put…

View original post 665 more words

Play it by ear

Or how I learned to play the piano by ear – I didn’t.

My daddy’s oldest sister, Aunt Myrtle, sponsored my piano lessons as a little girl. She had been a pianist for silent movies in the early 1900’s and loved any and all types of music. I dearly loved to hear her play, especially sitting close to watch her nimble fingers. Runs up and down the keyboard, crashing chords or delicate trills, it was all thrilling to me!

Myrtle still played for her own family, friends, and her own enjoyment too. Occasionally she accompanied someone who sang a classical-type solo at church, especially near Easter or Christmas time.

Mrs.WescottOh, how I wanted to play like Myrtle! And so, Myrtie Berry Wescott, a classical piano teacher, was chosen to instruct me. During the regular school year I would go to her house twice a week after school where for fifteen minutes per lesson she drilled me in music theory, scales, finger exercises, proper hand position, and practice, practice, practice!

I can still see her baton at the ready, threatening (but never actually rapping) the knuckles when your hands were being lazy, i.e. not properly lifted, fingers curled to strike – not mash – the keys.

Ms. Wescott was a stickler for playing music exactly it as written. She didn’t like her students playing anything she hadn’t approved… which meant no hymns, no sheet music, no “silly little ditties” such as Chopsticks, Three Blind Mice, or She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain When She Comes.

In her studio, only classical composers such as Bach, Beethoven and Chopin were used for memory work, especially end-of-year recital pieces. Difficulty increased, of course, as the years went on. Imagine playing 13 notes per measure with the right hand, to 12 notes per measure with the left hand. One of the Russian composers, my mind has kindly and lovingly blanked out that name and that piece – but I did learn to play it to her satisfaction, when I was about 15.

Well, while classical piano study was school-year work, summers were wonderfully filled with big band music, movie sound tracks, Hits of the 50’s etc., folk music, hymns and choruses, books and sheet music purchased by my parents as rewards for good work for my violinist brother and me.

I learned a great deal studying with Ms. Wescott. But what I didn’t learn was how to transpose keys. Whoever heard of changing the key on a Beethoven piece? Unnecessary! Unthought of! Unallowed.

Well, my lessons with her were completed when I was 16. After a few summer months of organ keyboard instruction sponsored by my church, I began playing the organ for Sunday services. (They had an excellent pianist but a fine organ with nobody to play it, until I came along.)

All went well for quite a while, until I joined Christian Assembly Church in the 1970’s and began playing the organ for services there.

The choir leader would sometimes say, “This hymn is pitched too high, let’s lower it a couple of steps.” I just looked at him in dismay – I had no idea how to do that. But the pianist did, so she would play and I would just sit there, feeling like a dummy.

After a few times like that I was disheartened. I loved playing. I loved the hymns, the gospel songs, the Easter and Christmas cantatas, all the praise and worship music. If it was written on paper, I could play it. If it wasn’t, I couldn’t.

It really bothered me. If I knew about the change of key in advance, I could write out the notes and practice at home and then things would go fine. But those occasions were rare. My heart almost grieved, not being able to play everything they needed. Should I resign as church organist and let them find someone who could do it? I was debating with myself.

One night I prayed about it – and woke up the next morning able to play by ear, in any key. (Only Christian music, oddly enough; anything else I still have to memorize as always.) It was amazing.

Not long afterward, a gospel quartet came for a special service one Sunday night. All their songs were lively and upbeat pieces they had written and as none of them played instruments, they sang with accompaniment tapes.

Then the pastor asked them to sing something slower, softer, more worshipful while people came forward for a time of prayer. Unfortunately none of their tapes contained that kind of music. One of them looked over at me and said, if we begin, can you just follow along? My heart pounded but I said, I’ll try.

And I did. Every song, even though none were familiar; they were all original pieces they themselves had composed. They sang and I played for over 30 minutes. No-one but me knew what a miracle that was, but it was.

Transposing choir numbers was no longer a problem. I just heard the melody and harmony in my head, found the key they needed and played.

Since that day I have played the piano in many places, sometimes with written music but more often without. Sometimes song leaders rotated from tenor to bass (Full Gospel Businessmen’s Fellowship), or from soprano to alto (Women’s Aglow). I found that I could follow the leader in whatever key they needed. Our own church where I have played piano for many years uses chord charts, because the other musicians don’t read music. No problem.

So, whenever people ask me how I learned to play by ear, I just smile and say, I didn’t. Let me tell you about a miracle – did you know the Holy Spirit can play the piano?