Of all my forty-two housemates, Johannah changed me the most, and she slept in the bottom bunk across from my own. She was tall, thin, graceful and quirky.[1] Her short hair was the color of chocolate, and adorable freckles covered her nose. It was easy for an outsider to think that she didn’t talk much, but I came to learn that she spoke when she had something necessary or helpful to say, a practice I would have done well to learn. Johannah played music. The first hint was the guitar in her pile of things on the day we moved in.
“You play the guitar?” I asked, excited to be living with a kindred musician.
“A little,” was her modest reply. I assumed that she was learning and could not help feeling a bit disappointed.
Before the first week was over, a small number of other musicians living at The Vines had made themselves known. One night, we found ourselves in our pajamas sitting on the cold brick patio, blinded by one bright floodlight that would automatically shut off if we stopped moving, leaving us in total darkness. It was not an ideal setting, but we each held a hot mug of tea and happily passed two guitars around the crooked circle. When Johannah’s turn came she said she would play something she wrote. I was intrigued. As soon as she opened her mouth to sing all conversation stopped and we were still. The floodlight turned off but my eyes never left the dark, swaying silhouette.
Johannah was no beginner. She wrote melodies like I have never heard, and her voice sent chills through my body. We talked later about her music.
“I want to write music desperately, but nothing ever comes. How do you do it?” I asked, eager for advice.
“Last year was really hard for me,” she faltered and her eyes fell to the ground before she continued. “I went through a lot. Somehow the music just grew out of my grief.” Her response didn’t cure my writer’s block, but my concern shifted. Johannah told me about a boy named Nate. She loved Nate, and he loved her. He was a talented and attractive musician. He wrote songs about her. They shared something beautiful until Nate began questioning things Johannah wished he wouldn’t question. His priorities changed, and he experimented with things that hurt him, things that hurt her. Johannah’s heart was absolutely broken, and she didn’t know how to fix it. She knew she needed to let Nate go, but it was a long and painful process, eventually leading her to find solace in Oxford. I was glad she ended up in my room, but regretted the grief that led her there.
Over the semester I saw her grow and heal, but it was slow. With tears in her lovely hazel eyes she asked me often if I thought she would ever be free from the ache that haunted her, if I thought she would be able to face him again when the time came. I knew that she would and Johannah tried to believe my assuring words, but I saw in her face that her faith was challenged by brokenness. She spoke of the things she had learned, and why she believed everything had happened the way that it had. She was a wounded and fragile young woman, but not bitter, injured in a beautiful way that I have come to admire, wishing that I, too, might sometimes focus on my helplessness rather than always on my independence.
I learned something valuable through Johannah’s pain. I was jealous, at first, of her music, but then came to understand that it was something for which she had paid a high price. How dare I covet something that was only possible because of heartbreak I had never known? How dare I ever envy people about whom I know nothing? This is something that people do every day, but it wasn’t until then that I saw its injustice exposed.
Johannah continued to play for me throughout the semester, and the chills came every time. It bothered me at first that she looked down when she sang, almost as if she was ashamed. She never looked at her audience and smiled like performers do, but bore her soul to the floor with her eyes closed. Of course she wasn’t ashamed, but she was vulnerable. Her songs were her heart, her offering. The more I loved Johannah, the less I envied her. I believe that with real love, there is no room for envy. I still wish she would raise her head when she sings, but I know now that her songs are not about mere entertainment, but about honesty. In each one she tells a different story - of unconditional love, profound grief, gifts of healing or heartfelt praise. Johannah almost sounds like a different person in each, but I know that every one was written in a place where truth meets honesty.
[1] I have recently been informed that Johannah is actually average height, but as I stand not quite 5’2”, I am content to say that she is tall.
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