Invisible or just a trick?

My super happy student, incidentally a 5 year old, walks with a characteristic spring in her step into my class. Motivating reluctant students is a familiar task for classical music teachers. So, I am pleasantly surprised when a student is actually content to be here.

The little one chirps her hellos, assumes the typical cross-legged position and begins her music lesson. After giving me an assurance that she indeed sing (and sing she can!), her eyes begin a journey around the room. A myriad questions leap into her mind, and I find it amazing that you can actually see these doubts being framed. What was that painting in the corner? And why would anyone have such a huge mirror in their living room?

Of course, within a few minutes, the questions are given a voice. The notes D and N suffer brushing aside, as the eager scholar ventures to get her answers. After supplying her with responses that I hope will suffice for the moment, I manage to lure her back to the patterns of S R G M…

My eyes closed, I listen as she effortlessly belts out an entire phrase. All too soon, the singing is cut short. I look up amusedly expecting a new question. Instead, I watch as the child adjusts her sitting position. The cross-legged position, she decides, is not comfortable after all. She swings her feet out in an attempt to assume a new pose, and unwittingly ends up with a foot on her music book.

Hastily, I pull the book out from under her foot, and remind her of our age old beliefs. She gives me an incredulous look and replies,” I know I shouldn’t step on my book!”
I decided to probe. “Why shouldn’t you?”

“Because God is in the book!”

Not the usual answer. “Yes”, I agreed.

She went on. “God is everywhere!”

Ok, so this conversation was getting a bit profound. “OK”, I intoned, not knowing what would come next.

“But,” she whined, “I haven’t seen Him. My mom says He is everywhere, but I don’t see Him”
Somewhere in my mind, I felt a little jump. And I knew I had to be careful with my response to this young child whose protest reflected mine.

At a complete loss, I decided to stick with a non-committal “I know. I haven’t seen Him either.”
I could almost hear the wheels churning in my little student’s mind. She’d gone into some deep puzzling thought. After a pregnant pause, she inched closer (in that adorable way little ones do), and in a conspiratorial tone, asked,” When you were little, did you complain to your mother too –that you couldn’t see God?”

Before a little laugh could escape, I replied in equally hushed tones, “Yes I did!”

Now the imp smiled. At least one other person (an adult, that too) shared her grievance, and hadn’t found a solution. At least one other person contemplated on the same issue that plagued her mind. All was well again!

Within seconds, she was back to singing a new pattern of notes, oblivious of the torrent of questions that had arisen in my cerebrum (I am not sure which side! – As far as this topic is concerned, I think the two halves of the cerebrum overlap).

I can’t think of a better way to conclude than with this quote I found -
“God, to me, it seems, is a verb, not a noun, proper or improper.” –Richard Buckminster Fuller