This is an intimate retelling of how God used a piano to tenderize my heart. The youtube video is of a song that connects to the story. I want to thank my classmate, Mindy, for being transparent and sharing her gift. I want to thank the Oyerindes for making my transition to Upland a possibilty.
The Keys of a Piano
By Tamara Peachy
I had been on campus for an entire semester. I confidently called The University of Evansville my new home. By the second semester, I was well acquainted with my friends’ laughter and smiles. I had observed them praying with fervency in the campus’s chapel. I had heard their testimonies about the greatness of God. I witnessed them finding their true satisfaction in genuine worship. The beauty of worship, this is where my story becomes mysterious and glorious.
As a worshipper, I relied heavily on my vocal talents. I would sing backup for worship teams, and I would harmonize with those crazy sopranos. When I received an invitation to be a worship leader, I had to humbly admit I couldn’t play an instrument. This hindered my ability to lead others into the presence of God.
Secretly, I always wanted to learn how to play piano. I attempted to take lessons, but I never had the knack for reading notes or being coordinated. I lost my interest in playing the piano because the pressure to master an instrument failed to motivate me. Rather, it discouraged me. There were too many rules, too many expectations, and too many critical remarks.
But, the desire to play never completely went away. Eventually, I realized I could play piano in secret. If I was by myself, I didn’t have to worry about rejection or proper technique. I allowed some of my friends in on my secret, but I wasn’t deluded into thinking my piano playing was beautiful or proper. It was simply therapeutic.
Inside the campus’s chapel stood an attractive, black grand piano. The sound it made was rich and robust, and the chapel’s acoustics amplified this sound so beautifully that my heart never failed to tremble. It was a perfect setting for worship and a few tears.
Eventually my tinkering on the piano grew into breathtaking times of worship. I would fiddle with the piano’s keys and sing spontaneous melodies straight to the Lord. I knew the sound produced by the keys often failed to match the sound of my voice.
Despite this discrepancy, these intimate times before the Lord grew sweeter. His presence was thick when I forgot my inadequacies. I used those piano keys to display my emotions and affections for Him. He responded with words of acceptance and delight.
One dismal winter night, I stepped into the chapel with a deep desire to use that grand piano to remind God how grand He was. I walked up the aisle that led toward the piano, and I wasn’t expecting to face a very foreboding enemy.
The piano was concealed under a rough, black cover that hadn’t been there before. I approached the piano timidly. I inched closer to have a better look. Maybe the cover could be removed. I discovered the cover could be lifted. I made a daring move and pulled the cover off. I spent an hour singing and playing, to some extent worried I was breaking an unspoken law.
A few days past, and I returned to play. This time the cover was fastened with a padlock. I should have surrendered, but the desire to worship God in this exact atmosphere was too alluring. I made my next move. There was a wooden box near the exit of the chapel. I don’t know what gave me the audacity to open the box. But, sure enough there was a key.
I hesitated for a moment, but holding this key in my palm created too much of a temptation. I unlocked the padlock, pulled off the cover, and this rebel used that piano to worship Jesus. The danger was intoxicating, but the worship was more intoxicating.
Eventually, an authority figure informed me that this piano was not to be played. Apparently, it was used for concerts and performances. Haphazardly playing on the piano would disrupt the piano’s tone. It was extremely expensive to keep this piano in good condition.
I obeyed for as long as I could, but one day I couldn’t handle my rage or desire. I was angry that this piano was stolen from me. I was angry that my worship was silenced. I desired to feel the presence that I only felt when my fingers touched those specific keys. I disobeyed, and I was reprimanded.
The day of my reprimanding was also my first day in the hospital. I had a mental break. Maybe I should have been sleeping more, maybe it was in my genes, or maybe that silent piano and the thought of it collecting dust was driving me mad. After my mental break, obtaining a degree from the University of Evansville failed to be an option.
Whenever I saw a piano, I felt a knife in my heart. I didn’t play for years. I was asked to sing for worship teams, and I accepted. I even wrote lyrics for worship songs. But, there was a deep wound created, and worship reminded me of that terrible night when I found the padlock.
Time healed some of the wound, and I started to long for those worship times again. If there was a piano in the vicinity, I would rattle off a few notes, quick and meaningless. Then a prayer ministry in Fort Wayne called the International House of Prayer presented me with a unique opportunity. I wouldn’t be leading worship, but not with known songs. I would simply play the piano and sing spontaneously as I meditated on scripture.
I never had a large audience, but that familiar presence returned. I had freedom to worship again. The padlock on my soul was removed, but that black cover hadn’t been pulled back completely. Playing the piano brought back the memories of mental illness and my experience with silenced worship.
I couldn’t continue playing the piano for ministry while my own heart was hurting. I made excuses as to why I didn’t want to continue with the set; I never exposed the real reason.
One year later I had the opportunity to attend a college in Fort Wayne, Indiana. After the second semester, the college closed unexpectedly. It rattled me slightly, but I had grown accustomed to disappointments.
When I informed all my friends about this calamity, a strange twist of fate solved the problem. Although the Fort Wayne campus closed, the main campus in Upland remained open. A friend of mine was living in Marion; I only knew this friend because I had attended the University of Evansville.
She and her family welcomed me into their home free of charge. Attending the University of Evansville, ironically, made it possible for me to attend Upland. It was a convoluted trip with u-turns and detours. God knew the destination, and he had the roads already mapped out.
Today, God proved to be in control once again. At the end of one my classes, a fellow classmate started up a conversation about the short stories we were assigned to write. This conversation continued as we walked out of the classroom. We started sharing stories beyond our classroom assignments. She mentioned her love for piano; I felt great longing, yet the hidden fear still resurfaced.
This classmate shared how she had tried piano lessons, and how this only made her frustrated. She then began to admit the past few months had been extremely difficult. During these dark times, she mysteriously began to play beautiful melodies on the piano. She asked if I wanted to hear her play.
I had no reservations at this time. She was telling my story. I wanted to encourage her and nurture this gift. It was stolen from me, and I wouldn’t let Satan rob her of this talent. I followed her into a small practice room, which had a small upright piano that was slightly out of tune.
The sounds she created were breathtaking, and I was deeply moved.
“You can tell when I am angry, I pound on the keys a lot harder,” she said as she demonstrated.
“I know. When you play spontaneously your emotions are more genuine. You aren’t following notes. You are in the moment,” I said.
As I listened to her play, we discussed the beauty of not being constrained by music theory. We reflected on how rejection or high standards stilted our freedom. We talked about the fine line between humility and false humility. We bonded, and God was behind the whole event.
He was sitting there on the piano bench next to my new companion. He was beckoning me to return to my secret place. He was playing the strings of my heart, as Misty Edwards so aptly put it. True worship will never be silenced because it is empowered by the Holy Spirit. Every padlock has a key, and God holds all those keys.
The Keys of a Piano
By Tamara Peachy
I had been on campus for an entire semester. I confidently called The University of Evansville my new home. By the second semester, I was well acquainted with my friends’ laughter and smiles. I had observed them praying with fervency in the campus’s chapel. I had heard their testimonies about the greatness of God. I witnessed them finding their true satisfaction in genuine worship. The beauty of worship, this is where my story becomes mysterious and glorious.
As a worshipper, I relied heavily on my vocal talents. I would sing backup for worship teams, and I would harmonize with those crazy sopranos. When I received an invitation to be a worship leader, I had to humbly admit I couldn’t play an instrument. This hindered my ability to lead others into the presence of God.
Secretly, I always wanted to learn how to play piano. I attempted to take lessons, but I never had the knack for reading notes or being coordinated. I lost my interest in playing the piano because the pressure to master an instrument failed to motivate me. Rather, it discouraged me. There were too many rules, too many expectations, and too many critical remarks.
But, the desire to play never completely went away. Eventually, I realized I could play piano in secret. If I was by myself, I didn’t have to worry about rejection or proper technique. I allowed some of my friends in on my secret, but I wasn’t deluded into thinking my piano playing was beautiful or proper. It was simply therapeutic.
Inside the campus’s chapel stood an attractive, black grand piano. The sound it made was rich and robust, and the chapel’s acoustics amplified this sound so beautifully that my heart never failed to tremble. It was a perfect setting for worship and a few tears.
Eventually my tinkering on the piano grew into breathtaking times of worship. I would fiddle with the piano’s keys and sing spontaneous melodies straight to the Lord. I knew the sound produced by the keys often failed to match the sound of my voice.
Despite this discrepancy, these intimate times before the Lord grew sweeter. His presence was thick when I forgot my inadequacies. I used those piano keys to display my emotions and affections for Him. He responded with words of acceptance and delight.
One dismal winter night, I stepped into the chapel with a deep desire to use that grand piano to remind God how grand He was. I walked up the aisle that led toward the piano, and I wasn’t expecting to face a very foreboding enemy.
The piano was concealed under a rough, black cover that hadn’t been there before. I approached the piano timidly. I inched closer to have a better look. Maybe the cover could be removed. I discovered the cover could be lifted. I made a daring move and pulled the cover off. I spent an hour singing and playing, to some extent worried I was breaking an unspoken law.
A few days past, and I returned to play. This time the cover was fastened with a padlock. I should have surrendered, but the desire to worship God in this exact atmosphere was too alluring. I made my next move. There was a wooden box near the exit of the chapel. I don’t know what gave me the audacity to open the box. But, sure enough there was a key.
I hesitated for a moment, but holding this key in my palm created too much of a temptation. I unlocked the padlock, pulled off the cover, and this rebel used that piano to worship Jesus. The danger was intoxicating, but the worship was more intoxicating.
Eventually, an authority figure informed me that this piano was not to be played. Apparently, it was used for concerts and performances. Haphazardly playing on the piano would disrupt the piano’s tone. It was extremely expensive to keep this piano in good condition.
I obeyed for as long as I could, but one day I couldn’t handle my rage or desire. I was angry that this piano was stolen from me. I was angry that my worship was silenced. I desired to feel the presence that I only felt when my fingers touched those specific keys. I disobeyed, and I was reprimanded.
The day of my reprimanding was also my first day in the hospital. I had a mental break. Maybe I should have been sleeping more, maybe it was in my genes, or maybe that silent piano and the thought of it collecting dust was driving me mad. After my mental break, obtaining a degree from the University of Evansville failed to be an option.
Whenever I saw a piano, I felt a knife in my heart. I didn’t play for years. I was asked to sing for worship teams, and I accepted. I even wrote lyrics for worship songs. But, there was a deep wound created, and worship reminded me of that terrible night when I found the padlock.
Time healed some of the wound, and I started to long for those worship times again. If there was a piano in the vicinity, I would rattle off a few notes, quick and meaningless. Then a prayer ministry in Fort Wayne called the International House of Prayer presented me with a unique opportunity. I wouldn’t be leading worship, but not with known songs. I would simply play the piano and sing spontaneously as I meditated on scripture.
I never had a large audience, but that familiar presence returned. I had freedom to worship again. The padlock on my soul was removed, but that black cover hadn’t been pulled back completely. Playing the piano brought back the memories of mental illness and my experience with silenced worship.
I couldn’t continue playing the piano for ministry while my own heart was hurting. I made excuses as to why I didn’t want to continue with the set; I never exposed the real reason.
One year later I had the opportunity to attend a college in Fort Wayne, Indiana. After the second semester, the college closed unexpectedly. It rattled me slightly, but I had grown accustomed to disappointments.
When I informed all my friends about this calamity, a strange twist of fate solved the problem. Although the Fort Wayne campus closed, the main campus in Upland remained open. A friend of mine was living in Marion; I only knew this friend because I had attended the University of Evansville.
She and her family welcomed me into their home free of charge. Attending the University of Evansville, ironically, made it possible for me to attend Upland. It was a convoluted trip with u-turns and detours. God knew the destination, and he had the roads already mapped out.
Today, God proved to be in control once again. At the end of one my classes, a fellow classmate started up a conversation about the short stories we were assigned to write. This conversation continued as we walked out of the classroom. We started sharing stories beyond our classroom assignments. She mentioned her love for piano; I felt great longing, yet the hidden fear still resurfaced.
This classmate shared how she had tried piano lessons, and how this only made her frustrated. She then began to admit the past few months had been extremely difficult. During these dark times, she mysteriously began to play beautiful melodies on the piano. She asked if I wanted to hear her play.
I had no reservations at this time. She was telling my story. I wanted to encourage her and nurture this gift. It was stolen from me, and I wouldn’t let Satan rob her of this talent. I followed her into a small practice room, which had a small upright piano that was slightly out of tune.
The sounds she created were breathtaking, and I was deeply moved.
“You can tell when I am angry, I pound on the keys a lot harder,” she said as she demonstrated.
“I know. When you play spontaneously your emotions are more genuine. You aren’t following notes. You are in the moment,” I said.
As I listened to her play, we discussed the beauty of not being constrained by music theory. We reflected on how rejection or high standards stilted our freedom. We talked about the fine line between humility and false humility. We bonded, and God was behind the whole event.
He was sitting there on the piano bench next to my new companion. He was beckoning me to return to my secret place. He was playing the strings of my heart, as Misty Edwards so aptly put it. True worship will never be silenced because it is empowered by the Holy Spirit. Every padlock has a key, and God holds all those keys.
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