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| The Gift That Remained |
For twenty years, Landon Burch's violin had carried him onto stages around the world. After an accident ends the career he prayed to regain, an unexpected student helps him discover that sometimes God doesn't take away the gift—He shows us another way to use it. Let the story speak to your heart—scroll down to begin.
The first thing Landon Burch became aware of was the steady beeping of a machine near his head. He opened his eyes slowly, and a white ceiling came into focus.
For several seconds, he had no idea where he was.
His mouth was dry, his head ached, and his body felt too heavy to move. He turned his head and saw a monitor beside the bed, then tubing running toward his arm.
A hospital.
Fragments of the accident came back to him. The hiss of rain on glass. Headlights catching the slick blacktop. A sudden, blaring horn. Then the violent wrench of the steering wheel and the sickening crunch of impact.
After that, nothing.
He attempted to move his left hand. Pain shot through his arm. Landon looked down. His hand and wrist were heavily bandaged and secured inside a brace. Only the ends of his swollen fingers were visible.
Movement near the window caught his attention. His sister, Kimberly, was curled awkwardly in a chair. When he shifted, she stirred and lifted her head.
“Landon.”
“What happened?”
“You were in an accident.” She came to the bedside. “You've been out two days.”
His attention returned to his hand. “My hand?”
“The doctors had to operate,” Kim said. “There was a lot of damage.”
For twenty years, the violin had been his livelihood. It had taken him into the orchestral pits and concert halls around the world.
“I want to speak with the doctor,” Landon said. “Now.”
The surgeon explained the fractures, the damage to the tendons and nerves in Landon's hand. Surgery was a success, but recovery would require months of rehabilitation.
“Will I play again?”
The doctor paused. “It's too soon to know.”
After the doctor left, Landon looked down at the bandages. He tried to move his fingers. One responded slightly. The others barely moved.
He tried to imagine a life in which he could no longer play the violin.
He couldn't.
___
Physical therapy was hard work. Each session left Landon’s hand throbbing, his arm trembling with exhaustion. But he pushed through.
He prayed that one day he would play professionally again.
Ten months after the accident, he could hold the violin again. He could play well enough. To a casual listener, he sounded fine. But Landon heard every hesitation, every loss of precision.
He knew.
His career as a violinist was over.
A year passed, and Landon was still trying to figure out his life.
Money wasn't a problem. More than twenty years as a successful musician had allowed him to live comfortably. What Landon lacked was purpose.
He began going out more, drinking more, and filling his nights with people and parties that kept him from thinking about what he'd lost.
One morning Kimberly stopped by and found evidence of another late party. She looked around before turning to him. “Landon, this isn't you.”
“Maybe you don't know me as well as you think.”
Kimberly studied him for a moment. “I know this is not you.”
Landon turned away. “Did you come here to lecture me?”
“Actually, I came because I need your help.”
“With what?”
Kimberly hesitated just long enough to make him suspicious.
“The school is holding a music showcase next month. One of our violin students was supposed to work with a guest instructor, but he had to cancel.”
Landon shook his head before she finished. “No.”
“You don't even know what I'm asking.”
“You said violin. I know enough.”
“They asked for you, Landon.”
That stopped him.
“Who did?”
“The director. He knows your work. He asked if there was any chance you would help prepare one of our students for the showcase.”
Landon gave a humorless laugh. “He knows what happened to me?”
“He knows,” Kimberly said. “He doesn't need you to perform. He wants you to teach.”
“Same answer.”
Kimberly folded her arms. “Remember when you said you owed me?”
Landon stared at her. “Don't.”
“Almost a year of driving you to therapy, bringing groceries, handling your appointments—”
“You said that was because you loved me.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I can love you and collect a debt at the same time.”
Landon almost smiled.
“One student,” Kimberly said. “One event. After that, we're even.”
“Completely?”
Landon sighed. “I want that in writing.”
“I'll have it notarized.”
Three days later, Landon walked into the School of the Arts and wondered again how Kimberly had managed to talk him into this.
Music followed him down the hallway. A piano sounded behind one closed door, while farther away someone struggled through the same few measures on a trumpet.
Kimberly met him outside one of the practice rooms.
“You came.”
“I owed you.”
She opened the door.
A girl sat inside with a violin resting across her lap. She looked about fourteen, but the moment she saw Landon, she jumped to her feet.
“I'm Chasity. I've watched you play.”
“Have you?”
“My teacher showed me one of your performances last year.” Her excitement grew as she spoke. “You played with the Baltimore Symphony. And that solo you did at—”
“All right,” Landon interrupted, unable to keep a small smile from appearing. “You did your homework.”
Chasity picked up her violin. “When Ms. Kimberly said you might help me with my solo, I didn't believe her.”
“Neither did I,” Landon said.
Kimberly laughed. “I'll leave you two alone.”
Landon watched his sister disappear through the door before turning back to Chasity.
He still wasn't convinced this was a good idea. He’d never taught anyone before.
But the fourteen-year-old standing in front of him was looking at him as though his name still meant something.
Landon couldn't deny that felt good.
“Stop.”
Chasity lowered the violin. “Was it bad?”
“No.”
She frowned.
“You know you're good.”
She blinked.
“Play it again. Slower.”
By the end of the lesson, Chasity looked exhausted. Landon felt better than he had in months.
She lowered her violin. “So...am I ready for the showcase?”
“No.”
Her face fell.
“But you will be.”
Chasity smiled.
Landon gathered the sheet music and handed it back to her. “Practice what we worked on.”
Chasity took the music. “For next week?”
Landon hesitated.
From the hallway, he heard Kimberly laugh.
Landon looked toward the closed door. “She's enjoying this way too much.”
Chasity grinned. “So...next week?”
He looked at the violin in her hands. “Tuesday. Four o'clock.”
One lesson became several.
Chasity was the kind of student Landon enjoyed teaching. She listened, practiced, and returned each week better than before. Soon Landon was arriving early and studying her music at home, marking passages they needed to work on.
Without realizing it, he had begun thinking about music again—not about what he had lost, but about what Chasity could become.
By the night of the showcase, Landon was almost as invested in her performance as she was.
He stood near the back of the auditorium as Chasity walked onto the stage. She looked nervous as she adjusted the violin beneath her chin, but then she found him in the audience.
Landon gave her a small nod.
Chasity began to play.
He knew every measure, every difficult passage, every place she had once rushed. Halfway through, she stumbled.
Landon held his breath.
Chasity recovered and kept playing.
A smile spread across his face.
By the final note, Landon was on his feet with everyone else. Chasity's face lit up as she bowed, but he barely heard the applause around him.
Watching her on that stage, Landon finally understood. God hadn't taken away his gift. He had shown him another way to use it.
Kimberly appeared beside him.
“She was good,” he said.
“She was.”
Landon watched Chasity leave the stage, still clutching her violin.
Maybe he would never again be the man standing beneath the lights with a violin in his hands. But perhaps he could help create the next one.
He didn't know exactly what God had planned for him next.
But for the first time in a long time, he wasn't angry with Him anymore.
🕊️ An Echoes of Faith Story
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