I grew up in a household where singing was just part of everyday life. The household that Dan and I established continued the trend. Sometimes it was rehearsed, purposeful singing as part of choirs, worship teams or ensemble groups. Sometimes, it was silliness, making up lyrics that suited a current situation or mood. Sometimes, it was moments when we couldn’t find the words ourselves, but a song that someone else had written seemed the only answer.
My favorite, though, has always been when it is a song – inspired in the moment or borrowed from some other writer – that bursts out of the overflow of one of our hearts. Those verses that combine human emotion with Holy Spirit-filled expression and leave you speechless once their final note sounds are holy things. They help us to boldly approach the throne of God, express our joy, our pain, our need, then lay it at His feet and give Him the glory in the middle of all of it. They connect us to His strength and power to be renewed and refreshed. They embolden our resolve.
There was a time, however, when those songs that I loved were simply inaccessible to me. Life had taken some difficult turns, trials had come, and I had listened to one of the whispers of the enemy of my soul. At a time when my own sense of inadequacy was at an all-time high, the words of one of my children, who I was seeking to soothe through song and who wanted no part of it, hit home. “Mommy. Stop it! You always sing! I. Hate. Your. Voice.”