Let Her Sing

"Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise;
give thanks and praise his name.
For the LORD is good and his love endures forever;
His faithfulness continues through all generations." --Psalm 100:4-5

Last week, I sought refuge in the empty Sanctuary of our church. The lights were off. It was early evening and growing dark. A golden haze, from the setting sun, filtered through the stained glass windows.

I chose a pew about half-way down the aisle. It was the perfect place to allow my ever-present grief to surface. As tears filled my eyes, I whispered, "Lord, I will miss this place and its people."

I closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths and leaned into the pain of upcoming goodbyes. Minutes later, my solitude was interrupted by footsteps. It was my sixteen year old, daughter Claire.

"I want to play the piano," she declared. By "the piano" she meant the beautiful Steinway grand piano which sat in a place of prominence, near the altar. Its white keys were beckoning.

"No." I could think of a multitude of reasons why this was a bad idea.

"I've done it before." Her voice went up at the end of the sentence. It was, at once, a statement, a challenge, and a question. She added, "What's the worst thing that can happen? Someone tells me to stop."

I didn't reply.

She walked down the aisle, without a trace of anger. She stepped onto the marble floor and moved behind the altar. I watched in fascination as she spread her arms and proceeded to dance. She twirled and jumped in the twilight.

Finishing her impromptu solo, she bent over and looked at the floor. I knew she was studying the plaque that marked the location of a time capsule buried under the tile.

After a few minutes, she moved over to the piano. She played one, then two notes softly. Afterward, she walked around to the side of the piano and peered under the propped open lid. She studied the inner workings intently.

She made her way over to the baptismal font. In the fading light, she leaned down. I imagined her thought, "Is there water in there or not?" She put a few fingers into the bowl and just as quickly, pulled her hand back. I smiled in amusement, assuming the answer was yes.

Next, she headed towards a chair, next to the altar. In front of the chair was a music stand. Claire sat down, adjusting the music stand so it was at eye level. Over the top of the stand, our eyes made contact.

I realized that my sorrow had retreated. In its place was the indescribable joy of watching my daughter as she enjoyed herself in this holy place. She had just danced in the Father's presence. She was totally at ease in God's house because... it was her home, too.

"Let her sing."

It was a request from the Holy Spirit. I experienced an "a ha" moment as I processed those three words. While Claire may have asked to play, what she really wanted to do was sing. For her, the two go hand-in-hand. My multitude of reasons for originally vetoing the idea, no longer mattered.

I spoke across the room.

"You're right. The worst thing that can happen is they ask you to stop."

My words didn't quite reach her ears and she tilted her head in question. I repeated my statement. She still didn't hear. Rather than repeat myself, yet again, I pointed to the piano in silent blessing.

She pulled out the bench as I made a request.

"Play, Our God Is Love."

It is a song written by my friend, Chris, and one that is played often at our house. Claire tentatively began. Within a few chords, she was playing with confidence. As she sang, her voice grew stronger until it filled the entire Sanctuary with words of praise...

Can you see the Lord?
Or fathom His design?
Can you taste His grace?
Or feel His love divine?

Our God is love
Nailed unto a tree
Our God is hope...

As I watched and listened, I worshiped the One to whom the words were directed. Claire continued until halfway through the second verse. She stopped, unable to recall the rest of the words.

She got up from the bench and pushed it back into place. A look of contentment was on her face. She walked back in my direction and we exited the Sanctuary.

I offered a silent prayer on my way out, “Father, I almost missed this concert. Thank You for inviting me and for the blessing of hearing Claire sing for You.”

Abba,
Is this how You feel about me, when I step into the fullness of who You’ve called me to be? Does Your heart swell with joy when I use my gifts for Your glory? I want to live my life in a way that keeps me in close relationship with You. This day, Lord, show me how to stay in step with You. In the strong and saving name of Jesus, Amen.