I sang as a little girl.
I couldn’t seem to help myself. Maybe the world seemed too quiet. Or maybe I needed to hear my own voice for company. Or maybe I wanted an audience, even as a young girl.
So I sang. Mostly alone. Along with the radio or a record I played on my record player. (Yep, I’m that old.)
There were times when the songs tended more toward the melancholy, singing through tears. Other times I sang in exultation. But as a girl, I didn’t sing songs to Jesus. I didn’t know Him yet. My heart exalted when I sang my first songs to Jesus through Young Life. And when I met Him at fifteen, my musical repertoire shifted to Keith Green mostly. Sometimes Amy Grant or Michael W. Smith. “Could it be the Messiah? Miracle man, part of the plan, could He be?”
When I met Jesus I wanted something tangible. First it looked like healing. Then it morphed into an insatiable desire for family. A husband. Some children to call my own. He did heal me. And although I tried to squelch my desire to be married by trying to be sold out for Christ, open to full time missionary service as a single woman, God did answer the cry of my heart in Patrick. And then later in Sophie, Aidan and Julia.
Flash forward to our vacation in Colorado. On the ride there, we listened to all sorts of music. Eventually we listened to a string of worship songs. And then I heard it: five voices singing to Jesus. All together. Never alone. In that joy, I sensed a sixth voice: Jesus. He said, “I have redeemed your past.” That’s all He needed to say. Because I understood. I used to sing alone. To myself. But now I sang alongside my family who loves Jesus.
It’s almost too much to put into words the joy I felt in that moment. Such redemption God has wrought in my life. Such renewal. Such hope and joy. All I can do is sing, sing, sing, joining my voice with the voices of my husband and children.