piano

I used to play the piano with my hands and my brain. Then in a flash, sixteen years ago, I lost my finger in a construction accident. I thought piano was stolen from me, but when it was restored (as it turns out, a left index finger isn’t necessary for most octaves and chords…who knew?), I learned what it is to play with my soul.

I could tell you the whole story over a cup of coffee and spell out all the ways God had me wrapped in His love through the whole ordeal, but the short version is that I came out convinced of Him and convinced of His love.

So I play the piano for Him. It is my worship – the oil I pour on his feet.

This morning was Easter (my favorite Sunday), and I played my little heart out until I couldn’t see the music through the tears in my eyes and my wrists were sore from pounding, “…then bursting forth, in glorious day, up from the grave he rose again…”

My playing was far from perfect. There were sloppy chords and missed notes and timing errors. I even started the closing hymn in the wrong key and had to start again. Embarrassing!

But it didn’t really matter, because, as much as I love the church people, I wasn’t playing those songs for them. I was playing them for the Lover of my Soul. My Jesus loves me with all the passion of Good Friday and I love him fiercely back. He hears the imperfections of my music, but listens to the deeper song – the beat of a heart that longs for Him. He loves me and I know it. I love him and He knows it.

And it is well….so very well….with my soul.