Musical Notes and Notices to Deploy

One Grandmother's Story.

I played the piano from which she usually served.

We were guest leading at Jerusalem Baptist Church. The black lacquered Steinway had lost its luster long ago. Even before the newly formed UN had declared what the Old Testament promised as Israel’s borders, that piano was making music for listening ears near Narkis Street.

The morning I played it, the tune was decent considering it’s age. A dirty concrete brick (that someone had spray painted to match) held her front ornate leg firm. There were fingernail gashes in the board just above the black and white keys. I loved seeing the evidence of other pianists who had come before me. It was humbling. A dodgy piece of wood shimmed up the pedal casing, causing me to push down on the dulled brass sustain with great care. What a racket it would make if it came unhinged on my watch.

It needed repairing and begged for a serious renovation.

Liz, the regular pianist was wonderful. She was gifted. And what a faithful servant! She had raised her children, and now grandchildren in the Holy City. We shared a Sunday service together. Later on in the week, over coffee, we spoke of God’s faithfulness, the role of worship, and of course the delight of our grandchildren. She had just said goodbye to her enlisting grandson. My heart felt for her then.

That was back in July. And today I cannot imagine the ache that beats in her chest.

She wrote Mark and I this week. She asked,

“Please pray for 2 of my 3 grandchildren who are new recruits and are being fast tracked to the battle.”

She will play that gorgeous old piano this weekend like she has hundreds, probably thousands, of times. That is if the air raid sirens and bomb shelters don’t demand her adherence. Only this this time when she plays, her mind may wonder to her grandchildren who are most certainly in harms way. A tear will tell of her choice to worship and play through the pain.

Pray for Liz.

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.