How Do You Experience God?

The summer I was 10, my mom worked as the secretary at our church, and I often accompanied her there.  One day, encircled by paper-dolls and paperback books in my hiding spot under the stairs, I was seized by a new curiosity:  What was it like to touch the black-lacquered baby grand piano in the sanctuary? Hmmm.

I knew kids were not allowed in the sanctuary unattended, and they most certainly were not allowed to touch the musical instruments!  But, like any good fundamentalist kid, I was well-versed in scripture even by that age. And despite my homemade pink dresses and general sweetness, I was also . . . well, argumentative!  I reasoned that if I got caught stealing a seat at the piano, I could defend my infraction by comparing it to David entering “the House of God” and eating “the consecrated bread”¹ in 1 Samuel 21. which “was not lawful for him”² to do . . . but which Jesus seems to defend in Matthew 12.  Yeah.  Who could argue with that? I thought, and made for the back stairs leading to the sanctuary.

Oh, who was I kidding?  Foolproof metaphorical defense of not, I was trembling as I pressed through the sanctuary doors and tiptoed over the squeaky floorboard between the altars. I chuckled at myself for doing so.  You’re here to make noise, aren’t you? To avoid drawing attention, I had not even dared to put any lights on and approached the piano only in shadows highlighted by the glow of green, pink and gold light from the stained glass windows. 

When I  sat down at the piano, however, I lost my fear of the pastor to the thrill of heavy keys sinking under my fingers.  The hymnal was open to “What a Day That Will Be.”  A childhood favorite of mine, because it contained imagery, rather than just abstractions.  My hands gently roved the keys searching for a melody I already knew by heart.  I may have been little and clumsy, with grubby, pudgy hands . . . Hands and bodies come in a variety of shapes and sizes, but maybe spirits are all the same size, and a little body encompasses a full-grown soul.  So, then those pudgy fingers of mine searched the piano with all the passion of artists to bring the Soul and the Senses into syncopation.  Chubby little hands, yeah, but with all the impetus of the Created to reflect the Creator!  At last finding that one familiar melody among 88 monochrome keys, I wondered if this was how sculptors felt when they first glimpsed a face in a block of clay. 

“What day that will be, when my Jesus I shall see, when I look upon His face, the One who saved me by His Grace . . .”³ I played and sang.  The notes resonated high into the vaulted ceiling while multicolor light diffused softly through stained glass into reflecting pools on the piano top.  “When He takes me by the hand and leads me through the Promised Land, what a day, glorious day–”  My hands shook.  I could play no more.  The moment was too beautiful.  Strangely, I felt tears clinging to the corners of my eyes.  Children don’t often cry if they are not scared or sad, hurt or angry.  What was this new sensation of being moved to tears by the poignant and the profound? I felt privileged to experience it. (Yes, like any good evangelical kid, I’m still down with three main points, heavy on the alliteration!) I remembered a line my mom used to quote from Chariots of Fire: “When I run, I feel His pleasure.”⁴ That’s what this is like, I thought. I could feel God smiling upon me as I played. A countenance shining amidst the piano notes sifting back down to earth through beams of rose-gold light.

I crept away from the sanctuary that day with a very young sense of being in love.  It was what you might call “a God Moment.”  I am confident  it will not be a parade of clichéd milestones that pleasantly haunts me upon my deathbed.  Not graduations, weddings, birthdays, or holidays, but moments like my first at the piano.  Not the moments I planned in detail, but the moments God planned to surprise me.  I am thankful. 

So, my friends, do you have a collection of such memories?  I feel sure you do.  I urge you to take them out, dust them off and treasure them by sharing, rather than by storing them.  Then I invite you to open your heart to see more and more of the “Promised Land” in piano keys, in garden tools, in a romp with the dog or a walk in the woods . . . May you open your eyes and see the God who sees you—in whatever you do that makes your heart sing!

Love,

Laci

References

1. 1 Samuel 21:3-6
2. Matthew 12:1-8
3. Hill, James. “What a Day That Will Be.” In Sing His Praise, 367. Springfield, MO: Gospel Publishing House, 1991.
4. Hudson, Hugh, Colin Welland, and David Puttnam. 1981. Chariots of fire. London: Enigma Productions. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJiDpcsfRHU