To a 6-year-old in Westport, CT

How wonderful, the light that falls on buildings at sunset and crowns them with a glory more than they are. Grace can fall at anytime and how wonderful when it does, something to celebrate.  And sometimes it falls from places below, rising from dissent, from suffering, from decay, from insecurity and frustration.  

A child's vulnerability in a group class today was a gift to me.  He started to cry when he made a mistake in Song of the Wind and couldn't get back on to join us.  And the same in Go Tell Aunt Rhody.  His mother told me that he had played them perfectly that morning, and it was frustrating to him that even though we gave it another go for him, that he couldn't get them all the way through.  He is a slower paced individual, not quick to speak or react.  The option of getting back on is perhaps not so available to him as it is to others.  His frustration was probably more than any of us can know, totally worthy of the tears his mother told him not to shed.  But today in particular I noticed his beautiful intonation, and I told him this after class, as he was trying to pull himself together.  "We've been working on that," his mother said, grateful for the comment.  And he paused a second in his sobbing, his breath still taking him in a despairing direction.  

It can be so hard to see our beauty.  To see the things that are loved about us.  This child has no idea how much he is loved.  I can see his frustration, I can see his mother's concern, perhaps her own insecurity in his behavior and how it reflects upon her, and in those things, they are so lovable.  Perhaps it is their concern for perfection, their seeking of love in something, be it another person, be it in an ability, or in an ability to simply be able to play with other people.  But there is a light that shines on them.  And it is a lesson to me, that in times when I do not feel worthy, there is also a light upon me, and every person that lives.