The Most Valuable Thing

It had been a hard week.  I was weary and wanted to be anywhere but miles away from home, late in the day, yet there I was.  As we drove through the grocery store parking lot, we noted a van in one space and on the opposite side of the road a young man with an electric violin, amplifier, and FX box (that he could loop music through).  He had placed a sign on the grassy verge.  I'd seen only enough of the sign to know he was asking for help of some sort.    We watched as children tumbled from the van and saw the man wave them back with his bow.

As we sat in the pharmacy drive thru, I let the car window down a little.  At that moment the violinist began to play.  Music wafted around us on the breeze. The music was beautiful and ethereal.   I didn't recognize the piece and wondered if it was an original composition.  Whoever composed it, the music was lovely and soothing and soared in the cold air, seeming to become part of the chill breezes that blew about.

There was a tiny little girl, perhaps less than 2.  A boy of perhaps 8.  Another girl who might have been 9.  Another child stood close by.  A woman watched from the steps of the van. 

In the empty parking space next to the van, the children began to dance to the lovely music.  They twirled and bowed, lifted arms and legs, and moved all about the empty space, swaying in rhythm to the music.  The children embodied grace and beauty in their movements.  They smiled as they danced, obviously happy.

The person I was with commented, "If he'd sell that electric violin he wouldn't have to ask for money!  Those things are worth a lot!"  I sat and pondered that statement, as I listened to a second and third song and watched the children dancing about.  

Would it have been better for him to sell the violin?  Would it have served his family better to have money rather than music? The music was so beautiful. Wasn't I benefitting from his music?  Wasn't it enough for me to be there listening?   Who else, that I couldn't see, was sitting in that parking lot watching and listening?

I contemplated the children for whose support I supposed he was playing.  Was it better to have that money for the immediate needs of the children or for them to hear that beautiful music daily?   The man was obviously accomplished, a true musician, and not just someone who played as a hobby.  What would become of him if the instrument were gone?  Could he earn a living otherwise?  Wouldn't his soul have expired slowly if he'd given up something that was obviously very important to him?  Not more important than his children...After all, he was standing on the verge in a parking lot attempting to earn money to keep them going.  

It's very possible, with cold weather coming in this man was taking his family to a warmer climate where a musician could continue to earn a living to support his family and just needed the cash to help pay for gas as they moved to a warmer climate, more prone to support a street musician.

I thought of the education the children received from the travel alone and the people they surely met along the way.  Wasn't that an enrichment of their lives, as well?  They were with their parents, seemingly full-time, a privilege many children of their generation do not experience.  Surely that was to their benefit.

I'll never know what his sign said, nor what he wanted help to support.  As we waited at the drive-thru one of the store managers came up to him and I could tell by her gestures she was ordering him away.  She pointed to the verges at the farthest ends of the parking lot, and to the sidewalks near buildings not owned by the grocery. While she was speaking, a customer going into the store walked up and slipped him a folded bill.  

The man quietly thanked the woman tipping him.  He wasn't belligerent or rude to the manager.  He nodded and packed his belongings, loaded them up, ushered the children into the van, and then drove away, taking that lovely music with him.

For 15 minutes, on a cold day in a sad season of life, that had been difficult and wearying, he'd brought fifteen minutes of peace and loveliness.  He'd uplifted my soul.  Remembering the children, smiling and dancing happily about, I think he served us all best by keeping that violin and continuing his journey of song.