I have almost no formal music training. I am not a songwriter. Literally. (As in—I cannot write songs.)
But I am a worshiper. I seek the heart of God, and sometimes He blesses me and allows me to hear a song that He has written.
Where does my story start? I’m not actually sure. Maybe it started with an elementary school music class that I have almost no memories of. It did result in six months of music lessons with that music teacher who taught me the very basics of reading music. I’m not sure if she taught me the chords or if my mother did on the little tiny keyboard she used every once in a great while… that was too many decades ago.
Maybe my story starts with the old and out-of-tune piano I played on for a few years, or maybe it starts with the second-hand Kawaii piano that was my high school graduation gift. I still was not a very good piano player at all. I struggled to read music at even an intermediate level. I knew the main chords in common keys and how to figure out whatever other major or minor chord I needed, but I still couldn’t play like I wanted to. A number of years went by, and the desire to be able to just play worship songs grew… and still I could not do it. My fingers wouldn’t flow, and I could not figure out how to use chords to make beautiful music. I tried… oh how I tried! I never got anywhere.
Until a day in 2001. Our church had closed so suddenly that we felt like we had nowhere to go that Sunday morning. I sat down at my piano, again wishing so much that I could just play. I think it was the simple, old classic, “I Love You, Lord” that was in front of me with its chords. I tried them for what seemed like the hundredth time… and suddenly the note came. My fingers were using the chords to find notes that flowed, and I worshiped. I think I tried “As The Deer” next. I don’t remember much else, other than that my father-in-law said a few days later that he was starting a church for those who suddenly had no place to go, and he needed someone to lead worship. I hesitantly offered that I was suddenly able to play.
I think the next chapter in my story is the day that a stranger whose name is long forgotten spoke something over my life. It was 2003 or 2004, I think, and I went to Aglow meetings for a little while. A guest speaker came, and I remember almost nothing except what was spoken over me—that I would hear the music of heaven.