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I used to think I could sing. I loved floating voice over note, whisper thin, creating wave upon wave of sound, here retreating, here getting stronger, melody, harmony. A place within me opened up in glory light in a way I can’t explain to this day; when I sing my heart flows on frequency wave.

It didn’t take me long into my marriage to realize that I did not really know the Song. My husband, bless his dearest heart, can’t carry a tune in a bucket. Should you hear him from the barn, you might mistake him for screech owl.

But oh, how he knew the Song of Songs. And it poured forth from him, rushing river, calming creek. It spoke from his hazel green eyes, it flowed in his speech, in his movements, gentle. True. I thought I knew. I really did. Hadn’t I been raised in the church? Didn’t I know the Song? There was this thing between us, and I knew that he knew Something I did not. His faith was sure. His love was true. Peace flowed from him.

Me? I was the howling, screeching, wounded animal that would claw out at him at slightest provocation. I came from a howling, wounded family, broken. Undone. Bedraggled. Weary. I had only known fighting, only known hurt, silences that could stand on end for days. Of the scurrying to our own spaces to avoid the relationships, the painful conversations that hung in the air, tense. I was the screech owl hiding in the eaves, hissing at him not to care. Not to love. To leave me, and my pain.

But he knew the Song.

And he sang, with all his heart, over me. His banner of me is love.

We celebrated ten years a week ago. When I think of those early years, of the howling brokenness I threw in his face on a daily basis, I am still moved to tears. He taught me what it was to love. Unconditional. And more and beyond that- he brought me to Love. He shared the Song. At the lowest points of my faith- in God, in hope, in people- my Beloved sang and sang and sang, actions so loud, so true, so Grace-filled- I heard my Lord singing over me. I was rescued. He was the Body. And soon others joined him, singing over me, healing the gaping holes of distrust in my heart, the Church made flesh in my life. They never occupied a physical building, with an official name. They flowed into my life from all corners of faith, smoothing away the rough portions.

And when the storm came, and the waves crashed…they were all there. They are here still. My beloved is still here. This- this- is grace upon grace. And I am amazed. I struggle so to put this all to words, because it is a God thing. It is beyond words. But I try.

I can’t spread my wings into this new day without stopping here at this way point in the journey and marking it down. I look over the last three years of loss, of lessons learned, and how I wish that I never would have had to walk the sorrowful road that I did- I can see so very clearly the jewels strewn on the path, forged in the heat of suffering. Blessing upon blessing. It is because of those people in my life- because of my Beloved- that I am able to walk into a new journey.

It is time to take of the rags of mourning, to dance with joy, and to sing. I will never forget the baby angel that made it to heaven before I did. I will never forget the pain of a two and a half years of unemployment. I will never forget the loss of my health, the soul-crushing exhaustion. It has become woven into the tapestry of me, and it will always be seen in my robe on this earth. I ache and look for the day that all things will be made new, the day my Beloved and I, my angel child, my children- and you, dear friend, I pray- dance before the Throne of Grace.

So I launch out…timid wing…falling into my Redeemer. He has kept His promises.

May my Song breathe grace, may it bring His glory.

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Metanoia…

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