I took seven years of vocal training as a kid. If you’ve met me in person, this shouldn’t surprise you.
I’m loud. I can project. I have things to say and often do so.
But this past Sunday and for a month of Sundays proceeding it, I can’t project and I can’t sing. I have a weak voice that can’t do much more than talk and even that’s a stretch by the end of the day.
This is due to an emotional October combined with a stubborn chest cold that’s left my throat in tatters.
This past Sunday was particularly frustrating, because our old worship leader returned to lead worship and brought with him some of my life’s favorite songs.
I wanted to sing, really sing along to those words that have soundtracked entire seasons of my life. I wanted my voice to match the passion in my heart and the tapping of my toes.
Yet, I could only softly squeak along.
The thought occurred to me not to sing at all, but I quickly dismissed it.
Because I had to add my voice to the song. I couldn’t keep it inside, as weak as it was.
And after all, doesn’t the church need all the voices?
This goes so far beyond singing and chest colds, doesn’t it? It extends into who we are as we gather together, and what we feel brave enough to bring through the doors. Continue reading