Better Together

“Are you coming with me?” she asks, big brown eyes troubled, freckled nose wrinkled in concern. “Will you stay with me until I’m not nervous?”

This is my kindergartner’s first day of piano lessons, and as is often the case when she starts something new, she is anxious and unsure. She clings tightly to my hand as we approach the classroom. She doesn’t know the teacher, what she’ll be asked to do first, or if any of her friends will be there. So naturally she wants to feel anchored by what she does know, safe with a protector to guard her.

She’s watched me play the piano for years. She likes the way the piano sounds, and she loves the idea of creating music of her own. She knows it can be done and that there is joy in the doing. It’s just scary now that her turn to step out has come.

What if she can’t learn where her fingers go?

What if her teacher is mean?

What if the other kids are better at this than she is?

“Stay with me, Mommy,” she whispers. “Okay?”

I smile and nod. How can I deny this sweet request? The answer is simple—I can’t. The reason is twofold: one, the parent in me cannot resist a chance to protect her because she’s still so little, and two, how well I know this feeling. How well I know the fear and insecurity that grip my heart when I take the first steps toward a new adventure. How well I know the desire to cling to what is known instead of pressing toward a fresh goal. How well I know the doubts that plague me when the comparison game begins to play in my head.

Going forward alone is scary, no matter where we are in life. My little cutie knows this as well as anyone.

In the last moments before class begins, another sweet little girl walks into the hallway, clinging tightly to her own mother’s hand. When she and my daughter spot each other, they simultaneously release their lifelines, smiling and calling out. They grasp each other in a tight, celebratory hug, the joy of discovering they will be in class together emerging in a burst of giggling exclamations.

Eyes shining, fears forgotten, my budding musician turns to me with a smile. “I’m okay, Mommy. My friend is here. We’ll walk in together.” With no further delay, they disappear into the room, hands clasped, heads held high. They have found fortitude in each other and security in a bond well forged. They will face this challenge as allies seeking a common goal. It sounds a bit dramatic, I suppose, but it makes my heart smile because this is how it begins.

This is how we learn the importance of peer support and the ability to form community. This is how we find the sisters of our hearts and begin shining with a common light. This is how we look not only to our own interests, but also to the interests of others (Phil. 2:4). We become connected, lending a helping hand or doling out an encouraging hug. We learn to accept the hands and hugs when we are the ones who need them, creating a series of reciprocal relationships.

We were created for community, built for relationships, and made in the image of the One who believes completely in both. It’s why we find him when two or more of us gather in his name (Matt. 18:20).

The lesson ends, and I walk into the room. Two adorable souls sit side by side at the keyboard. Dual waterfalls of hair cascade down their backs—one curly, one straight. They lean against each other, shoulders hunched forward, united in their quest for musical enlightenment. It’s a precious picture I will cherish, not only for its sweetness but because it will remind me how much we should appreciate each other and the gifts our relationships bring. It will be a visual representation of how we can overcome doubt and fear when we remember we are better together—and decide to live that way.

[Tweet “Life lived together is life lived fully. May we remember that.”]

Rebecca Greebon is a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, and child of the One True King. She has a passion for sharing with others how amazing they are, how much they are loved, and how blessed every day is, even when we are lost or distracted or completely over ourselves and the world. Rebecca blogs at theriverchick.com.