"Because You are my helper, I sing for joy in the shadow of Your wings."
It was 2005, and for Mother's Day that year my husband and children had given me a new bible study as a present. The verse had been tucked away in the lines of one of the book's chapters and I had underlined it in pretty purple ink. I didn't realize then how much that verse would become a declaration that I would make time and time again in my life.
On May 22, 2005, that very same month, I was getting ready to lay down with my youngest child for a nap. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, the day after my wedding anniversary, and I answered the ringing phone in my bedroom probably wondering who could be calling on us on a Sunday. It was my dad's next door neighbor letting me know that my dad had collapsed, his heart had stopped beating, and that an ambulance had come to take him to the hospital.
My husband and I packed our three children into the van, and began the drive to Lexington to leave them with a friend so we could travel on to the Winchester hospital where they had taken my father. My husband actually let me, the recipient of shocking news, drive. I think I probably needed the distraction of driving the vehicle, since we were an hour and a half away from our destination. I can remember praying, God, however this ends, whatever may happen, even if I can't understand the why, help me to accept that Your ways are not mine. I'm fairly certain my heart and head knew the outcome of the day long before I pulled into that hospital parking lot. My daddy was gone.
As is the case with the death of a loved one, even before the grief can take hold, you are bombarded with funeral home visits, phone calls to make, arrangements to be made. Your loss has barely had 24 hours to sink in, and you're trying to figure out who needs to be a pallbearer and what the newspaper obituary should read. I've been through the process now several times, and it never changes.
I can't remember where my children were at the time, but I was trying to get everyone's "funeral attire" together and I had just finished a trip to Wal-Mart. I walked into my empty house, and sank onto my kitchen floor, finally getting a chance to shed the tears that I'd be putting off till I had a moment alone. At the age of 29, I had three children, one that was not even four months old, no siblings and no parents. I felt so alone as I cried that gut-wrenching ugly cry where you're just struggling to take in air and your insides seem to be locking down, fighting the very physical pain that mourning such loss can bring. But even as the tears flowed, I could remember that verse that I had underlined in whimsical color just days before, and so I prayed, God, You are going to have to get me through this, You are going to have to help me find my joy again, You are going to have to give me back my song.
For me, music is life expressed in various notes and rhythms. I confess, most moments, even if there isn't a song playing in the air, I have a mental soundtrack running in my head. My collection of songs on my phone range from classical to country to rap to contemporary christian to jazz. I can't hole myself up in just one genre because the variety of life's situations demand different songs. I love to sing and I love to lift my voice in praise and worship. I sing when I drive, when I cook, when I get ready in the morning, when I'm folding laundry. It's not unusual to catch me at a stop light, hands raised, singing and dancing and paying no attention to the other cars around me. If there were ever a way I express my love and adoration to my God and my Savior, it is through song. So, what would happen if I couldn't do that any longer?
Psalm 63:7 makes me think of myself like a little chick. I'm busy running around, doing my thing, exploring the world around me. But, when the storm comes, when the darkness falls, when something has me scared, I go running right back to the security of my daddy's wings and I tuck myself underneath. They're big enough to surround me, to hold me close, to grant me peace and warmth until I feel like I can venture back out into the world. And yes, they provide me the shelter I need as I heal and find a way to sing for joy again.
I've lost loved ones, I've faced job losses and illnesses and parenting challenges and relationship breakdowns, and I continue to sing in the safety of His wings. Some days my song is loud and clear, and some days my song is nothing more than me listening to someone else vocalize what my heart is barely whispering inside me. But, through all my days He continues to be my Comfort and my Helper, the joy in my song. Amen.
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