Hidden Art Lasts A Lifetime

When I was in 8th grade my dad caved in to my mom’s insistence that we have a piano. Not a castoff or old upright, but brand new Kimball console. You might not think that’s strange, but as I watched the men from our church unload the monstrosity from the truck, I was as mystified as any 13 year old girl could be. As soon as it was settled in the living room I had to ask. “Who’s going to play it?” You have to understand that we lived in …

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Refining Grace