This past week, I sat in a small theater and watched my 24-year-old daughter, Christi, step onto a stage for a musical improv show. No script, no rehearsal binder, just a piano, a suggestion from the audience, and a group of brave adults who burst into song on the spot.

 

It was delightful chaos — clever, vulnerable, hilarious. And as I watched Christi listen closely, jump into harmony, and trust her cast mates, I didn’t just see a young woman having fun. I saw the five-year-old in a sparkly costume.

 

And I thought back to Musikids, piano lessons with Janet Paoletti, Broadway in Greenfield, dance recitals, stage combat lessons, watching Christi play Judas in Godspell and the Cowardly Lion in the Wizard of Oz.  All those evenings of practice…all those hours driving her back and forth.

 

Because Christi has always had a song in her heart.  Christi used to sing nonstop in our house. Every room had a soundtrack. Show tunes in the hallway. Pop songs in the kitchen. There was always music. And when she moved out, we didn’t just miss her — we missed the singing. The house grew noticeably quieter.

 

As parents, we plant seeds without fully knowing what will grow. We sign them up for lessons. We drive them to rehearsals. We encourage them when they’re nervous. We hope we’re nurturing something good — but we can’t see the long arc.

 

Sitting in that theater a couple days ago I realized that none of it was wasted. Those years weren’t about building a career; they were about cultivating courage, creativity, confidence. They were about developing the ability to listen and respond and the willingness to risk a wrong note and keep going.

 

Faith works that way too. We show up week after week. We pray. We practice gratitude. We learn the rhythms of service and forgiveness. It can feel ordinary in the moment — just scales and repetition. But over time, those practices become muscle memory. And when life hands us an unscripted moment, we find we can improvise with hope. We listen for God’s melody and add our own trembling harmony.

 

Now Christi sings at improv, as does her fiancée, surrounded by a community of friends who trust one another enough to make something up on the spot. She’s found joy. She’s found connection. She’s found a creative outlet that lights her up. And isn’t that holy ground?

 

Life rarely hands us a script. Instead, as we move through life, we must listen and learn to respond. We harmonize and we trust.

 

And sometimes, if we are very lucky, we get to witness the soundtrack unfolding.

- Rev. Candi