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In the Key of Tears

by Larry Carter  
9/21/2007 / Christian Living

Her grey silhouette on the back wall was the only thing they could see. But what God saw was something that no one could ever fathom.

She was five years old, her fingers only barely large enough to fit around the keys, but she presented that song with so much heart. I was ecstatic for my daughter as she stepped up to the side of her piano. Her recital was taking place that day in a large almost foyer-like room, and its circular shaping reflected how well the sound would reverberate. With craft and skill, the room's architects knew what they were doing, for, instead of a flat ceiling, it reflected a brilliantly almost annoyingly clean glass dome. And inwardly I thought to myself, "Why can't I ever get my windows that clean?" But the thought quickly faded as I observed the elaborate carpeting on the walls with exquisite portraits of objects of royalty. The quickening silence in the room echoed the footsteps of those coming in off of the gray and black tiled floor arrangement. And to top off the internal peace that overcame you as you stepped in, a small fountain of rock and water in the entrance trickled its way into tranquility.

Everyone was seated, the pupils section separate from the parent's and friend's. I watched a peculiar boy battle through his embarrassment to make it through his violin solo. He was so scared, but his teacher knew he was able. As the small boy stepped away, the attention was drawn to the baby grand in the center. My daughter stepped into the light. She had told me so often how she loved that song she played, and how often she did play it. And yet, every note that rang repeatedly day in and out was but a reminder of how God had given my girl such a talent. She spoke her name and the piece of music she was to perform, her words were crisp with a shaky confidence, and she glanced at me with a smirk as she finished her sentence. As she sat down on the bench, I watched her run her hand over the keys while closing her eyes. I knew what this was. She was praying for God to help her now, in her time of need when her message would need to be given. Even at five she listened to my words when I told her how important it was to be with the Lord in prayer in order for Him to bless her work. The keys yet again glistened as the ever-rising sun glared itself upon them. My daughter's light brown hair was shimmering as she saw her hands on the piano keys. She then began to play the song. She began to play "I Surrender All."

It was one of her favorite hymns that she had ever sung in church, and I had made sure she grew up with that mingling sound of Jesus in her ears. She played the baby grand with such elegance and poise as those words were repeated in my mind. I could just kneel down and cry out to my Savior right now as I repeated, "All to Thee, my blessed Savior." But I held back in light of my child's performance. I could see her passion as she admired every tiny movement of her play; soon I began to see tears splattering the keys and love flowing from my daughter's eyes. Her love of Jesus, even at the age of five, overwhelmed her in every way. As she concluded her piece of music in that last chord, I couldn't help but cry; but this was only one tear as I stood and clapped for my little girl that I was so proud of.

It was while she grew up that her passion for Christ drove her to serve Him more every day. Her every word was but an utterance of the influence of the almighty Lord. One day, I decided that I would give my only girl a gift. It was a small, golden key with a small necklace to match. I told her to play in the key that she loved the most, the key of tears. I whispered in her ear, "Even if no one else sees, God sees those tears." I trained her and kept her sheltered inside of Jesus arms. Her piano skill grew, and the chords became more complex and interesting for the ear to take in.

My little girl obviously grew into a woman, and at the age of twenty-five, she was more than I had hoped her to be. She, at one point, had been playing a duo with another peer of hers named Sarah. They were almost dancing to the tune "By the Light of the Silvery Moon." They laughed and enjoyed the song thoroughly. As the song came to an end, my daughter wiped the dust from the keys and remembered her recital almost twenty years ago. Reminiscing through her past, she gently placed a few notes in with a few chords. She suddenly began to play the song with full force and meaning; Sarah was staring at her astonished at how intensely involved she was in the song. Her eyes closed, her lower lip bitten in, and yet that same flow of tears gently making their way down her face.

My daughter finished this song and asked her friend if she knew who Jesus Christ was. She was taken back and appalled at such a question and refused to answer. She asked again, "Sarah, do you know who Jesus Christ is?"

Sarah answered, "I do not wish to know, I only wish to play. I'm sorry."

My daughter's attempt to win her friend to the Lord had failed, so she thought. Her tender heart to Jesus would lead to an amazing outcome in her life. My pianist was serving the One she loved most, and that is all that mattered to God. O, how my daughter prayed for Sarah every evening. In her prayer before her play she would ask God to open Sarah's eyes and bring her into the light. Her prayers would never be heard, it seemed; for she prayed for nearly fifty years this prayer. Yet, nothing had changed until this night.

The pews were crowded and the praises in one accord still vibrantly rang as my daughter took her place at her now grand piano. She had been reading through some things before-hand and happened to look down at that necklace dangling 'round her neck. This reminded her of the loving father that raised her so well and the Father that he taught her to love, even if her real daddy had passed away. Sad to say, I did pass. But nothing could stop my girl from playing in that key.

The church was busy, and that made her so excited, for she longed to play and lead them all to Christ. As they were seated in the oak finish pews, the brightness of the chandeliers magnified the beauty or lack thereof in the people's faces. She took special notice at this and chuckled silently, but her chuckle wasn't very funny in that her chest began to hurt from aches now that she was about seventy five years young now. She rang the first chord to the opening song and the people sang together in praise to the Lord. The pastor greeted and seated them, and then the sermon started. The sermon entitled, "Give in to Heaven" stirred the people's hearts I could see. Her faith and salvation was strong and unfaltering, but a small inkling inside poked at her. The pastor finished and asked if she would close with a song.

The altar call was in the process, and she ran her fragile hands over the keys once again. She remembered her father urging her to play in "the key of tears."

She was hidden behind her music; her sounds were all they could hear. Her grey silhouette on the back wall was the only thing they could see. But what God saw was something that no one could ever fathom. She began to play that song she had played so long ago, "I Surrender All." Many began to advance to the front; one man was running. My daughter, as she had at her recital, began to weep. She wept not for herself, but while she was playing, she peeked over her music to see Sarah slowly making her way to the altar. O, how she prayed for Sarah and thanked God for this sweet moment, for God opening her blinded eyes. She mingled her new chords into her old ones, and the beauty of sound flowed through the church as to make many cry that morning. But none cried as much as my girl, none as much as my pianist playing in her "Key of Tears."

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