In that moment, something seemed to beckon me, drawing me towards that old piano of my youth.  It has moved with me from home to home and yet, it has sat for a number of years, untouched and alone.  A collector of dust and a mantle for pictures … nothing more.

Yet somehow, almost without conscious thought, I walked over to it, where it sat hidden in the shadows of a darkened room.  I clicked on the lamp, pulled out the bench, picked up an old church hymnal from years gone by and carefully set it open in front of me.  Slowly, I reached to lift the lid, noticing as I did, that the piano was due for a good dusting.  I was surprised to see how yellowed the keys had become since I last played and how many of those keys were indented and stuck.

I tentatively laid my fingers onto the keys and played a few notes, wondering if I could even remember how to play.  The harsh sound of an aged piano that is beyond the scope of being tuned clanged hard to my ear and my fingers had clearly lost the dexterity of their youth, and yet, I soon found myself lost in the melody of years gone by.

 

 

I learned to play the piano when I was a child, following in the footsteps of my older sister, wishing to do anything that she did.  Once she stopped playing and moved on with her life, the piano that had originally been purchased for her use, became mine.  I was never a very diligent piano pupil nor did I have much talent, but playing the piano soon became the expression of the thoughts and emotions I held deeply inside.

When I was still quite young, I was asked (or rather, told) to play accompaniment for our small church’s congregational singing during our weekly Wednesday evening service.  For some reason, the memory of that phone call to my Mother and the list of hymns I needed to learn are still deeply embedded into my mind.  I did not want to play in front of all those people, but I don’t remember being given the chance to say no.  This was the first step of several years playing the piano within the walls of my childhood church.

I mostly blundered my way through those years of playing and looking back now, I wonder why I never figured out a way to gracefully step out of that lime-light.  There were a number of younger girls coming along behind me who were far more talented and quite eager to take my place.  I felt inferior to them and to the other talented pianists in our church and kept trying to change my playing style to match the way they played, but I could never boast their talent and I certainly couldn’t fake their skill.

At home, however, nestled in the living room of my parents’ home, away from watching eyes and high expectations, I found sweet release and freedom whenever I sat at my piano.

Only at my piano could I cope with the grief and brokenness my family was walking through, the isolation and difficulties of life at school, and not being able to find my place  of belonging within the church.  Life felt very confusing and only at my piano could I make sense of the chaos.

It was the only place I felt peace … a sense of connection with the One who often seemed most distant.

 

 

The concept of joy is one I have long pondered and puzzled over.  As the years have worn on and I have found myself stretched between varying extremes, often fighting the grief I often know and feeling guilty that I can’t seem to show an expressive, outward joy.  Isn’t a Christian supposed to exuberant and joyous in their faith?

That morning a few weeks ago when I first felt the nudge to play the piano again, I had been pondering this very thing, yet asking questions I never thought to ask before. I wondered if one could possibly feel joy and sorrow at the same time?  Could I experience joy without it appearing as overt happiness?  Could joy simply manifest itself as a sense of contentment in the middle of difficulty?  Feeling the sadness yet trusting the Lord?

Does joy look any one particular way?

Must it be an effusive display of emotion?

Or could it possibly be quiet and subtle?

Like a faint rainbow arching across the sky as the rain droplets and sunlight meet …

Could joy shine out through my eyes, even when they are filled with tears?

I asked my pastor for his thoughts and his response was that “Joy is a contentment of the soul” and reminded me that this is rooted in accepting what God has given us, even when it is hard and doesn’t make sense.  Paul refers to his experience with this in the book of Philippians …

 ^“Not that I speak from want, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am. I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.”
Philippians 4:11-13

Joy certainly may manifest as an effusive display of emotion in some people, but mostly, I wonder if it should be a disciplined sense of contentment in the midst of every season of life because one knows and fully accepts the goodness and the character of God?

Joy is like a rainbow in the soul.  A constant reminder of the promises of God.

 

I had intended to neatly wrap up this post here but then this morning happened…

I pulled into the church parking lot, very much looking forward to the service.  The last few days have been very rough and because I had anticipated that I would need a break by this point, I had already asked a friend to sit in the back with Ty during the service.  As I had shared in an earlier post, my other children are away with their Dad and my family this weekend, so it has just been me and my oldest son for the past few days.  You can read about that here, if you like -> Someday …

My son has been unexpectedly very anxious about his siblings being away and between that and the illness he has been battling, the days have been difficult.  I thought today would be the easy day and I have been hanging onto it as a lifeline.  Unfortunately, as soon as we pulled into the church parking lot, my son began to display significant signs of agitation.  It only took me a few seconds to realize what was wrong and once I did, I knew I was about to lose the battle.  He evidently thought he would find his siblings and my vehicle at church and when he realized they weren’t there, his anger and anxiety surged upwards again.

The tears silently poured down my cheeks as I pulled back out of the parking lot for the drive back home.  How often have I done this over the years?  Been to church and left again without seeing a single person, making a single connection?  How often have I left in tears feeling completely unseen? The sense of disappointment and grief was overwhelming as this journey of isolation struck an even heavier chord.

My tears flowed before the Lord as He ministered to my soul on that long ride home.

Once home, I went upstairs and changed back into my old, comfy everyday clothes.  I stopped in the bathroom long enough to remove the remainder of my tear-ruined make-up and then came downstairs to sit before my piano again … feeling every bit of beaten-down and broken as it looked.  The yellowed, stuck keys that struck harshly resonated with the confusion and disappointment I felt.

Yet, as I opened my old hymnal and touched the keys, the gentle songs of adoration for my Savior flowed almost effortlessly.  Sure the keys stuck, the tone was dreadful, and I made plenty of mistakes, but the music still poured out of my soul through my fingertips as it did as a teenager, confused and lost in her way.

But now I know the Truth of the words that my soul sings.

God is forever good and holy.

I can learn to be content even when I am lonely.

I can learn to be content even when I don’t understand.

I can learn to be content even when tears fill my eyes.

This is where my joy lies.

Not a showy display that attracts attention or praise.

Nor an attempt to be like someone else.

But rather a joy that shines as a faint rainbow through the mists of life.

A joy that rests in the Savior for all things.

A quiet joy.