When I received the invitation to conduct the Easter cantata Lamb of God, I felt an overwhelming sense of awe. The first thing I did was kneel in prayer.

“Dear God,” I said, “thank You for entrusting me with this opportunity to glorify Your name in our community. Please give me wisdom—like the wisdom You gave Solomon when he built Your temple. Guide me. Strengthen me. Touch the hearts of singers and musicians so that they will be willing to participate. Provide the people we need so this great work can be done for Your glory.”

From that moment forward, we began to witness miracles—quietly at first, then more and more clearly, each one revealing God’s faithful hand.

Musicians began appearing in ways we never expected. Some were people we had never known before. Singers came from different churches, different backgrounds, different walks of life. Yet they were united by one purpose. Slowly, what once seemed impossible became reality: a choir of eighty voices.

Eighty singers—each with a story.

Each person touched in a unique way by this project.

They dedicated their evenings to rehearsals. They sacrificed time with their families. They practiced their parts late into the night at home. Some drove long distances just to attend rehearsals. What moved me most was that no one complained. Instead, there was joy—because everyone felt that this music was more than a performance. It was a calling.

Yet among all these stories, one moment especially captured my heart.

The harp has often been associated with the sacred—its sound reflecting the beauty, tenderness, and even the atoning sacrifice of our Savior.

One day I met a young harpist who is studying in our community. I asked her if she might be willing to play in the Lamb of God program.

Her eyes lit up immediately.

“I would be so happy to,” she said.

But soon she discovered that she did not have access to a harp that could be used for the performance. Suddenly, what had seemed so simple became impossible.

Our committee began to pray about the situation.

I shared the problem with my husband, and together we asked God to provide a way.

We searched the usual places for a harp.

A few days later, we discovered a harp for sale in the Tri-Cities. On my husband’s day off, we went to see the instrument.

In my mind, I thought we were simply beginning a long search—perhaps looking for an instrument for future performances. I had no idea that God already had a different plan prepared.

When we arrived at the music store, the manager greeted us warmly. She led us to the harp and began telling us the story of its owner.

When the owner was young, she loved the harp deeply. She spent countless hours practicing on a small lever harp, playing beautifully. Seeing her passion, her father decided to give her an extraordinary gift. He purchased for her a magnificent harp from Italy.

It arrived in a large, elegant case.

A Salvi Diana concert harp with forty-seven strings.

For a musician, it was the fulfillment of a dream. A new harp. A new chapter of life. A future filled with music.

But life took an unexpected turn.

Cancer entered her life and changed everything. The illness eventually took away her ability to play. The instrument she loved—the instrument that once carried her dreams—became silent.

With a heavy heart, she decided to sell it.

We listened in silence to this story. We were deeply moved. There in the store, we prayed for this lady, because we believe God hears our prayers.

We are sure she will be glad that her instrument will now be used to glorify God.

It will sound again during the performance of Lamb of God at Walla Walla University Church, where the cantata will be presented in two performances.

Her instrument—the instrument of her dreams—will become part of a message of hope, faith, and resurrection.

But the story does not end here.

The very same day we brought the harp home, I immediately called the harpist and invited her to come to our house to see the instrument and tell us what she thought. I was curious—and honestly a little nervous—to see her reaction.

When she arrived, the harp was resting quietly beneath its dust cover.

Slowly, I removed the cover.

The moment she saw it, her eyes widened.

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “This is a harp very similar to the one I have in Italy. I have played this kind of harp before! I love the sound of this harp!”

Then she paused for a moment and added something that surprised us even more.

She is from Italy and is studying here in our community.

In that moment we stood in silence, realizing something beautiful:

the harp from Italy had found its way into the hands of a harpist from Italy—without any of us knowing it beforehand.

What seemed like coincidence was clearly something more.

It was another quiet miracle.

Praise God.

And deep in my heart I knew again: this story is not finished.

Because when God begins something, He is never finished yet.

We are still watching.

Still praying.

Still believing.

Still waiting to see the next miracle.