I walked gloomily through the halls of a Chicago YWCA.
I had come to the city for a crucial ear operation. Next day I’d begin four days of preparation before surgery at St. Luke’s Hospital. As a piano teacher, I was especially frightened about the outcome—the operation was so new that few others had had it.
With no friends close by, I was lonely. Apprehensive. If only you would send me someone I could talk to, I prayed to God.
As I passed the Y’s solarium, I noticed a piano and, almost as if it were the friend I needed, I felt drawn to the keyboard. I sat down at the piano and began to play. I played and played. The music flowed with a spirit of its own, expressing my pent-up feelings. At last I finished and got up to leave.
“Please, don’t stop!” a voice called out. All this time, though I hadn’t noticed her, a woman had been sitting in the far comer of the room.
We introduced ourselves and started to chat. She, too, was a stranger in town. And she, too, it turned out, had been through the very same surgery I was about to undergo, with “my” doctor, at “my” hospital, exactly a year before! It was she who reassured me about the operation that in a few days would prove to be such a success.
She had heard my music. But Someone else had heard my prayer.
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