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The Gift of Music: Speaking Through Joy, Hope, and Sorrow

Writer's picture: Faith HakesleyFaith Hakesley

+JMJ+

Hello, old friend.


It’s been awhile since I took my violin out.


Years ago, one of my greatest childhood passions was nearly stolen from me: my music. Music had always been my talent and a refuge. From the piano to the violin and to singing when I was around the house, it was a great form of expression for me and a deep source of joy and fun. But that joy was shattered when my rapist used my music as a way to get to me. In the aftermath, music—something I once loved so deeply—became for a time a source of pain, a reminder of what I had endured.


I kept playing, though it felt like an uphill battle. Every note I played was heavy with grief and anger. What had once brought me light now felt like a burden. Yet, I persevered and I clung to the hope that one day the joy would return. Deep down, I acknowledged that my music was a gift was from God, one I could not let my abuser rob me of it completely.


I’ll never forget standing in the choir loft of my childhood church, violin in hand, and playing Ave Mariathrough what felt like unending tears. Below me, the casket of my oldest brother rested in front of the altar. That moment was a turning point. It was a time when my love for my brother, my grief at his death, and my faith poured out through the strings of my violin. It was probably the most meaningful performance of my life.


I remember another moment vividly. It was the evening of the very same day my rapist was found guilty. After weeks of grueling emotions, I stood on a stage, viola (I played both viola and violin for awhile) in hand, and played. It’s strange how music has so often been present at the most difficult crossroads of my life.


For a while, I let music go a bit. The pain felt too great, and life got busy. But I never truly gave it up. For years, my dad and I played together in nursing homes and retirement homes, sharing our love of music with others. We also performed a song we wrote together for my husband on my wedding day.


My dad, a professional guitar player, is far more skilled than I will ever be. For me, those moments have never been about perfection. They have always been about being with my beloved dad, creating something beautiful together, and bringing joy to others through the gift of music. What a gift to see the transformation in many of the people who have listened! We don’t play together as often these days, and I truly miss those moments.


I don’t pick up my violin as often as I used to. Opportunities to play publicly have grown scarce, and my fingers are admittedly a bit rusty. But every now and then, I pick it up again, and something amazing happens. The love, the grief, the hardship, the joy—it all comes rushing back.


Music stays with us. It has a way of speaking when words fail, of healing what seems broken. It’s a gift from God and a thread running through the fabric of my life. It reminds me that even in the hardest moments, beauty and grace remain.


Music is a divine gift from God, a language of the soul that speaks when words fall short. It carries hope in sorrow, beauty in brokenness, joy in celebration, and unity in every note. Through music, we hear the tiniest whisper of heaven.

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2025, Faith Hakesley
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