Gloria Perkins, now 74, has lived her entire life as a single woman. A violinist and a longtime friend of our family, she is a soul untouched by worldly trends—pure and beautiful, like the refined melodies she draws from her instrument. She often laments how young people today are immersed in rock music, missing the beauty of Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart. She also grieves the way modern parents neglect their children under the excuse of being busy. Yet through it all, she remains a faithful elder who walks with God.

Because of my child’s violin lessons, I meet her weekly. One winter evening last year, she greeted me with an unusually flushed face and breathless excitement. “Do you know what happened today?” she exclaimed. “I went to a film production office in Manhattan and applied to become an actress! I even called Hollywood in California to inquire!”

“An actress?” I asked, stunned. It was hard to believe that a woman of her age—still youthful in spirit but visibly aged—had made such a bold decision. I couldn’t help but wonder what had stirred her courage.

She explained that a few days earlier, a film crew had been shooting in her neighborhood. Watching the extras rush back and forth at the director’s command, she was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of futility. Her life, she realized, had become like theirs—an extra in someone else’s story. Month after month, she struggled to pay bills, feeling increasingly suffocated. Despair over the future had quietly crept in.

She began playing violin at age four, influenced by her pianist mother. Practicing more than six hours a day, she was hailed as a prodigy and featured multiple times in the New York Times. As a child, she toured Europe and the world, performing with renowned orchestras and receiving standing ovations. One of her fondest memories was performing for President Roosevelt and receiving a beautiful doll from the First Lady. She was once invited to teach at Juilliard but declined, choosing the freedom of performance over institutional prestige.

As time passed, the global stage was overtaken by new prodigies. Her performances narrowed to church services, weddings, and funerals. No one remembered the New York Times calling her “one of the most perfect musical geniuses of the century,” nor her performance before Roosevelt. She spent her later years as a part-time music teacher at a private middle school, nurturing young musicians—until even that ended with retirement due to age.

“I told the film secretary I could do anything!” she said. “Empty trash cans, sit as a restaurant guest, dance on stage—whatever they need. And of course, I can play the violin! I’ve performed all my life. Acting won’t be difficult!” Her face glowed with the dream, as if she were already the star.

Yet something in me sank. Her life—marked by a youthful love for music, a parting from her beloved, and a quiet loneliness—was now shared only with an old house inherited from her parents and a 200-year-old violin that had carried her story.

“Miss Perkins,” I said gently, “don’t regret anything. Your life is far more precious than that of a hired hand. Your performances were never wasted. They were beautiful. And now, your music begins anew—not for human applause, but for the joy of God alone.”

She lowered her head, eyes glistening.

How fierce the battle must be to walk a meaningful path. I held her hands and prayed: “Lord, You have shaped her life with Your hand. Now, play her story with Your own touch. Help us not lose our true selves in worry over tomorrow. Let us hear Your voice cry ‘Bravo!’ even in the fearful places of life.”

Amen. There was nothing I could offer her but God’s comfort.

And then, like a crane rising from the shadows, she picked up her violin. Slowly, she began to sail into the sea of melody. The instrument, silent for two centuries, began to breathe again—deep, majestic, and alive.

In that refined, elegant sound—bursting with life like fireworks—I saw the hand of God, still shaping His masterpiece.

—Yoon Wan-Hee, February 5, 1996