It began rather simply.
He called and asked if he could play for me tonight. The time slipped by quickly, and the tears poured as I listened to songs that held truths so dear.
And when the time had ended, I knew I couldn’t sleep without finding myself at the piano as well. So I slipped through the grass and found myself at my parent’s house. They were crawling into bed, but eager to hear music as they fell asleep.
Playing the old hymns brought tears. Brought memories. Late nights on the deck, singing in the dark. Evenings spent at the church, gathered around the piano. Strumming the guitar around the Christmas tree. Playing the flute while in the large swing, not caring that everyone in the Valley could hear. I shared those moments with friends who dared to allow music to become more than entertainment.
Of course, most people will say that they love music. But there is a real difference between slapping your hand on the steering wheel in time to the latest Top 40, and finding yourself so moved by a score that it’s all you can do to hold yourself together. Moved because you suddenly are beyond yourself, and how it sounds, and what those around think, and all you hunger for is that soft, immeasurable moment in which you feel the presence of the Lord.
So, something simply begun has brought me into a quiet moment tonight, full of remembrance. And I’ve found myself whispering once more for a new beginning to be unveiled, and for a restoration of the wasted years.