Tonight I sang for church. I was invited to fill in for the summer for one of the singers from the contemporary music group who is taking some time off for maternity leave. This is the same group of musicians Shawn and I played with for a few years before we spent two years overseas in Honduras with the Peace Corps.
I was hesitant to make the summer commitment, not because the desire was missing, but rather I questioned if I could make it through the songs without crying. Music moves me like no other mechanism. In my saddest moments, a song can bring me to my knees and convince me there is hope. I had this fear that if I risked singing again in public, I might fall to my knees. I might be weak with emotion, dizzy with tears, embarrassed by unexpected reactions. Yet, something inside compelled me to say yes to this healing invitation. Something inside me told me this is a necessary step to any sort of recovery for myself.
It felt good to sing.
For starters, the group I sang with tonight is one of the most welcoming collections of people I have ever experienced. I felt safe with them. I felt confident with them. I felt like I belonged with them. I felt received by them. I felt covered in prayer by them. I felt like they knew the level of healing this music potentially could provide for me and they wanted this kind of healing to be a possibility for me. I felt like they had my best interests in mind. I felt like they cared.
My children sat with my sisters and some very good friends. Jordan pointed to me and said, “Mommy is singing.” He was attentive and curious. I loved glancing over at my children and cherished their expressions, knowing they were well cared for.
The music moved me. I am talking about real movement. I am overcome by the idea that my body and soul and spirit can still move. I noticed at Mass tonight, this is the first time I can recall since Shawn’s death that I actually participated in the service instead of simply sitting there to fill up a discrete space in the pew. When I received communion, I felt a strong presence speak to me, “This is where Shawn is, he is with this same Jesus.”
It felt good to sing.
I liked singing and blending and harmonizing and concentrating and working to make it sound good. I liked watching people watch me. I liked the smiles I saw in return for the sound they heard and I was inspired to be a part of their worship. My voice felt strong tonight.
The words to the music stirred me. My voice sung with conviction. I know now that what we sing of is true. Each word vocalized and each note resonated was real, valid and absolute. “In all pain and sorrow – Come to Jesus now.” I know what this music means. I am living the words wrapped up in the melodical tunes.
It felt good to sing.
