Mickey Starling
reporter3@greenepublishing.com
As a youngster, I quickly developed a love for practically all sports. I played Bitty Basketball in the third grade and eventually graduated to Little League baseball, where I thrived as a right fielder, mostly holding down the right corner of the bench.
However, I had a few moments of glory when I made my way onto the field. One day, I was daydreaming about twinkies when I heard the crack of the bat at home plate. As I returned to reality, I discovered that the ball was headed right for me at an alarming rate of speed. I instinctively held out my glove to protect myself. To my surprise (and everyone else’s) the ball landed in my glove.
I gave myself a quick autograph and threw the ball in the general direction of the infield, where it eventually arrived the following day. I was the star of the game for a few minutes, sure I would make it to the Little League Hall of Fame.
What truly made me feel famous was the day the governor, Rueben Askew, visited the ballpark and shook all the players’ hands. I was star struck. The thought that he would take time out of his schedule to meet me because of my outstanding catch in right field was mind blowing, but I accepted the opportunity with humility.
I heard a story in church last week that also had to be humbling. It was the true story of a day that an old man entered a beautiful cathedral in Europe during the 1800s. He proceeded to the organ and took a seat. Quickly, a security official rushed to the organ, demanding the man not touch the organ.
The old gentleman begged for the opportunity to play just one song and was eventually granted his wish as the official stood close by to protect the organ from damage. What he received was a front row seat to the concert of the ages. The old man brought such beautiful sounds from the organ that people began coming in off the street to hear the melodies more clearly.
The shocked attendant asked “How did you make the organ do that? I have heard it played often, but it never sounded like that.” The old man pointed to the name printed above the keyboard. “What does that say?,” he asked. “Mendelssohn,” replied the attendant. Gently smiling, the stranger said, “I am Mendelssohn. I built this organ.”
Now, that would have truly given me cause to be star struck. The lesson learned is simple: No one is better at getting the most out of something than the one who created it. They know every inch of their creation: strengths, weaknesses, talents and flaws. Nothing is hidden.
That message inspires me to move slower through my day, waiting on my Creator to play the right notes in my life so that I can better reflect Him in all my actions. Hopefully, the music He brings forth will cause others to stop and listen, not to me, but my builder, Who knows how to make everything beautiful in its time (Ecclesiasties 3:11).