I love to play the piano. I love to let my heart attempt to reach out through my fingers and let its feelings be known. This practice has been a source of great strength and comfort and encouragement to me in my life. With this in mind, and at no small sacrifice on their part, my parents were able to acquire a nice used piano and offer it to us as a wedding gift when we were married. This is a gift that I have cherished more than they could possibly know – and I will continue to cherish it. It is in rough shape and has been with us through probably more than a dozen changes of residence, but I consider it a trusted friend. At some point I decided to attempt to create a song that would express my gratitude, sort of an “ode to my piano.” So I wrote a few words and put some music behind it, but I was only able to complete one verse and then I was at a loss of what to put next. I always liked that first verse, but would repeatedly meet with frustration when I attempted to add to it—nothing ever sounded right.
While I was on the road in 2005 (I don’t even remember what city I was in), I was sitting in my hotel room and brought out my “songs in progress” (at that point I think almost all of my songs were in progress) and I looked at this one. At the end of that first verse, I had quoted my son as he arose from playing part of a simple song on the piano saying, “There’s more, but that’s all I know.” Those words struck me deeply at that moment – in a way that had escaped me before. I began writing, and within a couple hours, the whole thing was basically done. I had taken it a completely different direction than I had intended for it years before, but I loved this new direction. The results spoke a message to me that helped me through what I was currently living. There are times when our lives go in different directions than we anticipated, and all we can do is trust that things will work out. All I knew was that there was more, and that was all I really needed to know. Time would eventually prove out the truth; meanwhile, my faith could emit enough light to see what I really needed to see, until it would some day be appropriate to see more.
There's More, But That's All I Know
By Michael D. Squires
It’s just a one-hand melody from the piano down the hall. But to me it’s more than music, it’s a legacy passed on. And in my mind a choir sings and orchestras swell and grow. My eight-year-old son stands up and says, “There’s more, but that’s all I know.”
Has it all been written down? Have all the songs been sung? Has every feeling been expressed? Has every string been strummed? Have all the chords been already played? Is there more music in my soul? Deep down inside is there more to share? There’s more, but that’s all I know.
So this is where I hesitate to take just one step more; Unsure of where that step takes me; what lies beyond that door? But gingerly, I gather strength; I raise my feet and go. The light shines just a bit farther out – There’s more, but that’s all I know.
So faith is hope in things not seen; a sense that things work out. Not a mindless following, but a belief that removes all doubt. Though the path before me is not always clear, and the way is sometimes slow, I square my shoulders and I raise my sights - There’s more, but that’s all I know.
The vision I have for my 8-year-old may come to pass some day – Choirs may sing and orchestras sound the music that he will play. But there will always be more songs to write, more melodies will flow. And there’s comfort in this simple phrase, “There’s more, but that’s all I know.”
Michael D. Squires - All musical material on this website is copyrighted by the owner, but may be used for non-commercial church or personal purposes without permission. Any recognition of me as the source (and perhaps a quick note to me) is appreciated.