Grace in Her Hands

There are moments in our home when everything seems to slow down. April will sit at the piano, and without much thought it seems, her fingers just begin to move. What amazes me is not just the sound — though it’s beautiful — but how natural it looks. The notes flow, the timing is steady, the emotion is right there in the room. To me, it feels almost impossible. If I were to sit down at that same piano, I would have to think about every finger, every key, every movement. It would not be graceful. It would be mechanical. But for her, it’s as though the music is already inside her, just waiting to come out.

I’ve realized something watching her play: what feels impossible to one person can be effortless to another — because God wired us differently. I am not musical. I can preach, teach, and outline a sermon, but I cannot make that piano sing. And that’s okay. God never asked me to be April. He asked me to be faithful with what He placed in my hands. The same Lord who gave her musical ability gave me other gifts. And when she plays and I preach, we are both simply offering back to God what He first gave to us.

Sometimes we look at someone else’s ability and quietly think, “I could never do that.” And maybe we couldn’t. But the Christian life is not about doing what someone else was called to do. It’s about surrendering what’s in your hands. When Moses stood before God, all he had was a rod. When David faced Goliath, all he had was a sling. When April sits at the piano, she has ten fingers and a willing heart. And when you stand before God, you may feel inadequate — but He delights in using surrendered lives. He takes fishermen, shepherds, mothers, teachers, pastors, and pianists — and weaves His glory through ordinary obedience.

I am grateful for the music in our home. But even more, I am grateful for the reminder: God doesn’t require perfection — He requires availability. He takes us where we are and uses what we have.