Jan 07 2009
Playing piano
I love music. I love to play the piano and sing. I love to read music, and transform black dots on a page into a melody. But as I’ve gotten older, my hands have gotten weaker, and while I can still read the music, I can’t make my hands follow at a steady pace and hit all the chords together. And at times, it can be more frustrating than enjoyable for me to try to play.
But for Christmas, my dad got me a keyboard with keys that are easy to press down, so it doesn’t take much effort. It’s in the corner of my bedroom, so I can play whenever I want. I still can’t play well, and will never lead a choir or perform in a concert or anything like that… But tonight as I played, I imagined Jesus was sitting on my bed, leaning back with his eyes closed and a smile on his face as he listened to my inconsistent, blundering chords. I played some by ear, and some by page - some of my favorites that I think might be his favorites too. He hummed along, without seeming to mind the frequent pauses and the incomplete six-part harmonies.
While I wish I could play a brilliant masterpiece for him, I am so thankful I can be myself with him - all my mistakes and shortcomings and weaknesses in obvious “dischord” - and still bring him joy. For he knows my heart - the desire to worship him in song and word and deed. And he knows how I am formed - that I am just made of dust that painfully muddles up the expression of my spirit.
As I finished the last song I could manage to tap out, he leaned over and took my tired and fragile hands in his own, and kissed them, and said with such honor and grace, “You have done a beautiful thing to me… You did what you could.” And I know that my tunes were as meager and yet priceless to Him as the perfume that was poured at his feet. Thank you, Lord, for receiving my offering of praise.
