The sweetest part about my evening was when the congregation rose to sing the Hallelujah Chorus. This man on the first row, disabled and barely able to stand on his own, rose to his feet. He looked, to me, to be the tallest one in the room among hundreds of others who were waiting to sing. He raised his book best he could and with a voice as strong and as tender as an angel's, sang his sweet heart out. His body jerked and his music was waving in the air but he felt it. He felt what I felt. He felt what everyone in that room felt only you could see it was a billion times more powerful for him. He was doing what my insides wanted to do. He looked like he was dancing. I wanted to join him but instead, for that moment, I played that chorus just for him. We rejoiced together. I don't know his name or if we will ever see each other again. He will never know the effect he had on me tonight, but him singing, when all odds were against him, made magic.
Every year I get antsy to play this amazing work just because I know that when the that night comes I will get to feel Christmas and I'll get to see that joy in every body's face who participates. This year I saw it more powerful in one man's eyes then I have ever seen before!
This is, again, why I play!
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