coming home

I was doing some reflection today about the music I was enjoying.  I remember how silent my home used to be and I can't help but contrast it to the abundant amount of music that fills our home these days.  Although my kids like to tease me and yell, "Oh no!  Everyone get your ear plugs!" when I pick up the violin, I also can't stop them from banging away on their own little instruments.  Worship time isn't just devotionals and prayers anymore; it's guitar and drum and tambourine and the shaky egg thing and voices and joy and sound and love.

And I can't help but praise God for the change in the atmosphere we are experiencing now.  I can't ever forget.  I can't forget how I couldn't even touch the piano for months during a period of utter brokenness that I experienced a couple years ago.  I had a piano in my home, of course, but couldn't even touch it without falling apart.  I went for months and months, unable to play and I couldn't figure out why.  I tried; I prayed; I pleaded.  But even today, I honestly still don't have an answer as to why I couldn't play.  All I can speculate is that since my ability to praise God was all wrapped up in my music, because that was a very dark period, I imagine all of hell trying to tear out any trace of God in my spirit.  Awful times; dreadful memories.

But then I experienced freedom and peace.  An abundance of fresh air; light filtering in from every angle and I could breathe again.  But... at that time, I had no piano.  I had nothing except my guitar for one full year.  That's 365 days without a piano, added to the months and months without the will to play it.  Sometimes I thought I would wither away and die.  I even cried myself to sleep on occasion, wondering if God was punishing me for some reason.  I would think about my fingers caressing the keys of a piano and I would literally start to cry, longing to touch them again.  Wow, I'm a strange one, aren't I?

But this is my primary method of praise; it's what I feel I was given as a gift for that purpose, so I'm not that weird, am I?  And if I can't express God's gift, part of me suffers and grieves the loss.

So now, whenever I play, I remember.  And I doubt I'll ever forget.  And I am ever grateful to God for what He's given me at this time.  I have a church now, too, where I can play the beautiful grand piano whenever I have a chance.  And I do take every chance; before, between, and after services; midweek; whenever.  I would rather play it than be social or eat or go home.  Some may find that strange; strange that it's like a magnet for me.  But if they knew where I had come from or what it means to me, maybe they would understand and praise God with me.  It's true that the difference between that grand piano and my home piano is like the difference between a live performance and a cassette tape recording, and I used to wish for a quality grand piano in my own home.  But it's actually okay that I don't have one because I enjoy the significance of the church piano, appointed specifically for endless praise in worship and song.  It's almost like it's holy; set apart for a blessed purpose.  It's not the same as playing a piano in a music store or a hotel.  It's defined; it's sacred, and it seems to amplify the prayers of my heart somehow.

Music, especially when I'm creating it, is my worship, my praise, and sometimes even the air I breathe.  I'm alive and I am filled with joy and my heart is even overwhelmed to the point of tears when I'm experiencing it.  Is this normal?  Seriously, I feel like there's something bizarre about me.  Maybe it's a phase I'm going through.  Or maybe it's the real thing.  Maybe I'm finally home.

Yeah, that's it.


Home...


Home.



I've come home.

I don't ever want to forget and take His gift for granted.  I want to continue in constant praise for God because He's brought me home.

And every time I sing or play or experience music, I want that pathway of praise between me and Heaven to be blazed in fire and light.  Forever.  Until I can travel it to my eternal Home.