Mary’s song. While the news of her pregnancy was glorious, it must have been frightening, yet Mary bursts forth in song. I wish I could say that was my response when I got frightening news this year, but it wasn’t.
I love music. My father’s sweet tenor voice filled the church, as he directed the music, index finger keeping the beat of the music, and I played the piano. Those hymns comforted me on the long ride home as I knew my mother was dying. As Daddy died, my siblings and I sang to him the songs about heaven he had sung to us. I cannot remember not singing.
But not this time. in January my song was silenced. Cancer. How could this be happening? And if I was okay with it happening to me, I was not okay that it was happening to my daughters. I knew what it felt like to watch your mother battle cancer. I railed against God. Sing? You have got to be kidding me.
While you respected my request for privacy, you quietly expressed love through cards, meals, text messages, phone calls, visits, and even Georgette, my wig, which was a gift from my beloved choir.
And I love my precious four-year-old Sunday School class. My refrigerator is plastered with their artwork, cards, get-well wishes. I cried when I found a mason jar with flowers on my doorstep, when I was given my prayer shawl, donated by Donnie Jordan after his battle with cancer, which had been prayed over by my current and former four-year-olds, and even last Sunday when I was told a child prayed for me as they packed shoeboxes.
Through the love you have shown me, I sing again. Right now, my song goes like this: “Jesus loves me, this I know.”