There is a big issue in my life that has been around for some time. This is the issue that I think about more than homeschooling and more than writing. I want to explain what I’m going through. Yet, I don’t want to go into detail. I don’t want to hash and rehash the decisions, mistakes and milestones from the last 13 years and I really don’t want near strangers to tell me I’m doing it wrong. So, I’ve decided to talk in code. My metaphor for my big issue will be, for the sake of privacy, a broken piano.

My piano is broken. It has been for a very long time. When my husband and I acquired it in ’98, we had big plans for it: how it would meet the needs of our growing family, how we could bless others with it, how it would reflect our personalities. All we had to do was fix it. The plan was to wait a few years until we had all of our resources in place (there are other needs besides pianos) and then it would be fixed.
But in 2001, the worldwide economy bust hit us on a personal level. This postponed our plans. Our response to this was to pray. We would ask God, who we believed gave us the piano in the first place, to give us the resources we would need to fix it. He didn’t exactly answer us. Instead he challenged us to trust him.
We did. And if anything this broken piano is good for, it’s there to remind me that God is in control. That his plans for my life are not always comfortable but they are good.
In the beginning, having a broken piano wasn’t a big deal. Lots of people we knew had broken pianos. But I watched them as they repaired theirs, sold them, acquired another one, sold that one, and their lives were better. Nothing happened with ours.
As the years went by, people who knew us closely, and knew how badly we needed to get this piano fixed would rally around us and pray. They knew our family was growing and the necessity of having a functioning piano was obvious. We clung to our original vision — it was still a good one — and believed that somehow God would bless us so that we could fix it and then all would be well.
One can’t know our family for long without getting an explanation of the broken piano. Maybe this is why I hate it. I can’t hide it. Once I might have said, “Yes! This is cool piano! It will be awesome when it gets fixed!” But now I pray silently to myself, “Don’t ask me about it. Please!”
The years went by and the piano was still not fixed. Well meaning friends suggested that I go on reality television shows — ones that deal with situations like ours — for a free solution. I refused. The thought of my hardship on television was mortifying. I also thought that getting on one of those shows was a lot of work and there were no guarantees. Wouldn’t it make more sense to trust God? He always comes through, doesn’t he? Others, also well meaning, asked personal questions about our resources or offered advice we didn’t want or solutions we had already addressed. Talking about my piano like this was exhausting and painful.
The problem with having an issue like this is that publicly I wanted prayer and attention, but privately, I wearied of updates. I would meet people, years later, and they would say things like, “So! I imagine your piano is all fixed now! How are you liking it?” And I would shiver, and try not to cry and say, ” It’s still broken. We’re still trusting God.” And then they wouldn’t know what to say and I wouldn’t either and then I would try not to get angry at God for putting me in that situation.
Often I would go to other people’s homes and see their piano and how much they enjoyed it and try not to cry. We would enjoy ours too. Why can’t we fix ours? Why is this such an issue?
The enemy often came in at this point. “You don’t deserve to have your piano fixed.” “You’ve got all these other sins in your life, that’s why God hasn’t let this happen.” “You need to pray more, you need to be a better wife and mom, then maybe God will have mercy on you.” “God has forgotten you.” “Your trust in him will get you nothing but pain.” As you can imagine, when these thoughts were left unchecked, my broken piano became a force of destruction against my soul. I wish I could say I always successfully fought against these feelings, but I didn’t.
You say, “It’s only a piano!” Yes. It is. There is so much more to life than this. God has made it very clear that my importance and significance doesn’t come from whether or not my piano is fixed, whether or not it is lovely to listen to, whether or not I can do with it what I dream of doing with it. My significance comes from God. He is using the broken piano for something beautiful. And I don’t always know what it is.
I do know that there is a part of me that made having a functional piano somewhat of an idol. That only a functioning piano would make me happy. That is not true. There is a part of me that gets angry that most of the families I know have functioning pianos and they take them for granted. They don’t realize what they have. There is a part of me that thinks that if I had a functioning piano, I would abuse it in a way and hoard it, or not allow my children to enjoy it or get so wrapped up in it that I would lose sight of everything else. There’s a part of me that sees the good things in my children that wouldn’t be there without the broken piano. There’s a part of me that knows, without a doubt, that if I didn’t have this broken piano in my life, I would be a worse person.
This broken piano has forced me to die. I’ve had to throw myself at the mercy of God and repent of the ugliness that is in me. This broken piano has forced me to look at my other possessions and say to them, “you don’t have a hold on me.” This broken piano has forced me to see that there is so much more to my family than what we own. This broken piano has made me look like a fool because I forget that there are so many other wonderful things in my life, like five healthy children and a good marriage — things that could make me the envy of others, things that are directly from God’s hand, not my own, things that, in the long run, are far more valuable than pianos.
Last September, after 13 years, my husband I decided that it was time to remove this piano out of our lives altogether. This would mean a death of a dream. This decision was a hard one. In some regards you could say that we failed. Yet, perhaps by releasing it, its painful hold on us is broken.
I am excited and fearful. I’m glad that this piano will no longer be a part of my life. I won’t see it every day. I won’t have to explain myself to anyone anymore. The shame of it is gone. Perhaps the original goals can be accomplished but in another way. I’m also fearful. I’m fearful that I never really learned these 13 year old lessons. I’m fearful that if I get what I want for my family I’ll be unhappy with it. I’m fearful that God is going to disappoint me after my very long wait.
Many people have a broken piano in their lives. They may have an issue, that almost defines them, that they don’t want to have another conversation about. This broken piano has taught me to be gentle with others’ pain, to listen more than talk, to encourage rather than advise and to trust God even more.
So, do you have a broken piano? Have you felt about it the way I have? How has its presence in your life changed you?