I live in a mansion. There are so many rooms, and so many doors, that it would take more than a lifetime to explore what is in them all. From one room, I can explore the sciences, and watch the progression of the stars and planets. I can chart the known universe and discover things that it has taken mankind centuries to understand.
From another, I can learn the religions of the world, make connections with things divine, and come to a deeper understanding of why people are the way they are.
From another, I can become my own symphony, and follow the practices of the master composers. I can perfect the principles they have learned and carry them on to new levels.
There is a room in my house where I can practice medicine and learn how the human body works. In this room, I can also learn how to strengthen the powers within my own body through exercise, activity, proper nutrition and rest.
In one of the larger wings of my mansion, I can enter a fantastic world with creatures and people that most people only meet in dreams and movies. I can converse with them, and in essence, leave the world entirely through time machines and spaceships.
I have rooms that bare the perfect resemblance of locations all around the globe. I have been to Egypt, China, South America, and Africa without having to leave my home.
In my favorite room, I have met the Savior and His prophets. I have come to know God, and converse with Him regularly. I have met Adam, Enoch, Abraham, and John the Baptist. I have met the reformers and those who took part in the great restoration of the Gospel.
I have visited many of the rooms in my mansion, and plan to visit many more.
My house is small, and my means are meager. But in every room, there are books.
I don’t know if playing music by ear is a gift that can be inherited, but if it is, I can’t take full credit for what I have learned. I have a long ancestral line of musicians, including trumpeters, harmonica players, singers, band leaders, songwriters, whistlers, and of course, piano players.
My Grandpa Hathaway played the piano by ear. I never asked him what kind of technique he used to learn what he played, but I have vivid memories of watching his fingers dance across the keys as the sounds of Beautiful Dreamer and Memories filled my grandparents’ living room. Their house always had a classic, well-cared for style, with curio-cabinets and intricate mementos of their lives and era. The piano was situated in the tightest corner of their beautiful living room, with only enough room for the piano and a player, but the music carried throughout the whole house.
Not only did Grandpa teach himself to play that piano, he essentially put the thing together himself – at least after taking it completely apart. When he and Grandma bought it, they wanted to put it in the downstairs living room, but their stairway was too narrow for a full-size piano. So Grandpa disassembled the whole thing – with every key removed, and took it down into the living room in pieces.
Grandma hassled him that he would never be able to get the thing back together, but he did, and it is still there today. I suppose that piano will stay with the house forever.
We had a piano in our living room, too, though we didn’t have to take it apart to get it there. I was fourteen when I decided I was going to really learn to play the piano, and that year Grandma and Grandpa Hathaway came for Thanksgiving Dinner.
During those contented hours between the feast and the serving of pie, I found myself Continue reading