Letting the Music Carry Me

I love music and have from my earliest memories.  I still remember songs my mother sang to me when I was a toddler and songs I learned in kindergarten.  When I awaken during the night, I often find that I am in the middle of a song that is playing like background music in my mind.  I sang my first solo at church when I was 7 or 8.  I still remember the words to "I'll Be a Sunbeam."  I sang so many solos throughout my life that I couldn't possibly guess at the number, nor could I tell you my favorite song.


I lost my singing voice about 10 years ago.  By that I mean that my voice has become so unreliable that I have no idea what will come out when I open my mouth in an attempt to sing.  I might be able to sing a few lines almost as well as decades ago, but then the sound may deteriorate into a shaky old lady warble, or no sound at all.


I don't know how to explain the sense of loss this creates.  There used to be a connection between what I knew in my mind and felt in my heart and my vocal chords, so that the expressions of my soul flew out of my mouth and filled up a room even without amplification.  The connection is broken.  While it is true that a bit over 10 years ago, an experience crushed something at my very core, it is also true that age and a degenerative condition inherited in my family are probably the major contributors to this loss.  Whatever the cause, I now stand in church wishing I could lift my voice, but unable to do so.


When my daughters were teenagers, one Sunday we were traveling in another state and visited a church we had never been in before.  We were a few minutes late and the service had already begun.  The congregation was attempting to sing, but no strong voice led them.  The singing was tentative and spiritless.  I knew the song and began to sing before I picked up the hymn book.  An immediate change occurred.  I could feel the impact my voice was having on the group.  People began to sing out confidently following my lead.  After the service, one of my daughters asked me if I realized what happened when I began to sing.  I did.  I'm sure some would think this made me proud, but that is not what I felt either on that occasion or others when I was aware of this phenomenon.  I could help other people express themselves.  My voice could carry them along and allow them to worship as they would desire to worship.  I delighted in being able to help a group in this way.  Now when my own congregation falters on a new song, I feel as though I am letting them down.  I want to help.  It is in my heart to help, but my vocal chords no longer cooperate.


Recently I had the experience of being at a concert with brass instruments.  Brass instruments are not quiet...they are overpowering.  The audience was invited to sing along on some of the familiar pieces.  It was actually wonderful not to be able to hear the sound of my own voice because of the blaring brass.  I did not know if I was singing well or quavering or if no sound was coming out at all.  Perhaps I was only mouthing the words, but my eyes filled with tears as I let the music carry me along.  I pictured myself standing on the sidelines in heaven as a procession passed by.  Jesus Himself was the focus of the procession and my voice or my silence melding into the triumphant sound.  


I don't have any reason to expect to die soon, and I would not do anything to hasten it, but I do look forward to the day when the expression of my soul will fly out of me again.