The Invitation to Sing

Psalm 5:11

But let all who take refuge in you rejoice; let them sing joyful praises forever.
Spread your protection over them, that all who love your name may be filled with joy.

The halls of Gardner dormitory sit almost completely empty and quiet. I am careful with door handles and stair railings while hauling one load at a time from the farthest end of the second floor to the trunk of my Honda.  Ten days ago (but really ten months ago?) it is St. Patricks Day and I am wearing a green long-sleeved t-shirt. A little luck packed in haste when all the plans changed and the world was deciding to grind to a painful halt. It’s warm in Texas in March. I’d forgotten that, so I change in her dorm room into a yellow freshman follies tee. 

This is back when all the things were changing. Every hour something new morphing, twisting, the knot in my stomach growing in time with the fluttering in my chest.

She and three college friends. Yeah, another week of spring break! They get to stay another day. Wait…what?

Pivot, pivot, pivot. So dizzy are we from all that is being turned around and upside down. New plans made and we are off, not understanding for even hot one second.

Today, can we believe those Whataburgers we ate right inside the store south of the Red River?

Pivot. Change. Flex. So many questions about this interrupted life I’m helping pack up. Flutter goes the wounded bird trapped inside my chest.

We look around and find things we can pack it all up in. Two Aldi bags I happen to have in the car, a duffle, her backpack, the cute blanket basket we got at TJMaxx. She empties the closet one drawer at a time. I go back and forth to the car, counting steps in ways unfathomable a few days back.

Fleeing this new invisible danger, distance is our only option for safety. We do what we have to this day. What is happening?

I pause to take a photo of the empty laundry room. My 1985 memories haunt me in the stillness. Someone stole my new sweater from this room.  I am walking these same halls, carrying my shower caddy or backpack or meeting for Dominos pizza at midnight under my St Elmo’s Fire poster.

I turn to get another load and am transported as I hear the words and simple melody come.

Jesus is all the world to me, my life, my joy my all;
He is my strength from day to day without Him I would fall.
When I am sad to Him I go; No other one can cheer me so;
When I am sad He makes me glad; He’s my friend. 

I jerk back to March 17, 2020, shocked at the mysteries of long term memory. Every note, every word waiting for 20? 30? years in the shadows of my mind for this particular moment. The flutter calms and a few tears finally fall.  

This song feels like a safe place in a world suddenly dangerous.

I sing out loud for who is there to hear me?  I feel seen and loved by the history of my days stacked backward as the faith of my acapella heritage offers up a cool drink of water. The song hits me and wraps me up and pats my back, soothing me like a lullaby.

Within the rhythms of these strange days, empty nest no more, I’ve picked up my hymnal (thank you, Highland Church). Muscle memory and emotional memory and theological memory converge to encourage, sustain, offer hope. Ten days later and I’m still singing every morning. To calm the flapping wings that haven’t yet found their way out.

Many of these songs were written by souls walking dark nights. Songs that contain words of opposing emotions: lament and joy, sorrow and hope. I’m grateful for these writers whose words are soaked in the concrete of my memory.

I smile to think of all the new music that will be written during the days of the 2020 quarantine. Songs of faith to encourage us and our great-grandchildren. Songs of remembrance, of the faithfulness of our God in the middle of a global pandemic.

Find your songs to sing. Sing some old ones or learn new ones. Write a new song yourself.

May the resurrection of our singing voices be a spiritual practice that heals us in these disappointing days.

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