There’s a time for everything, even a time for singing.
Even when your heart’s not in it.
Even when your voice falters and cracks.
Even when it’s hard to breathe.
Even when no one is listening.
Even when you can’t remember the words or reach all the notes.
Sometimes the soul must voice its desire and its offering, and you must open your lips and allow the truth to escape your hunched-over, angry, frightened self. Sometimes words need to fly out and go where they will.
Sometimes the joy manifests only after the sound barrier has been broken.
So I will open my mouth, Lord—yes, I’ll do it. I’ll reach out my arms and turn my palms upward and reel the syllables from way down in the bottom and up through a sorrowful throat and clenched teeth. I’ll spin out the tones, the tunes, the stuff that is real melody after all.
Maybe today is your time for singing, too. Are you brave? Does life matter to you? Can you be a little feisty, and roar without apology?
The thing about your voice is, no one will ever come looking for it. No one will run across it while they’re out shopping or seeking their fortune.
And, unless someone comes along who is merciful enough, or cruel enough, no one will ever seduce those lovely sounds from you. Because the voice is quite a personal thing, and mostly hidden. It’s up to you to form the vibrations, to let the air rush in.
Right next to you, quieter than breath, a majestic angel lingers, leans in, and murmurs to you what cries out so brightly the heavens shudder:
"Please . . . sing!"
Copyright © 2009 Vinita Hampton Wright