As a gift, I received from my daughter a little book called, What I Love About Mom.  The book sets up a sentence and she filled in the blanks. I had a good chuckle over a few of them.

If you were a scent, you’d be Warm Ocean
Breeze.

But one of her responses took my breath away. “I love the sound of your voice when you sing.” Alone, hidden in the privacy of my home, I’m a reckless singer. And largely a closet singer unless I happen to be worshipping with a large congregation of other sincere but not necessarily on-key singers.

There’s really only one place where I dared to sing solo at the top of my voice. My daughter’s words transported me to the tiny living room of a 90-year-old farmhouse, surrounded by seventy acres of farm land. The only ears besides hers that could hear me belonged to the corn.

After being fired from my job for talking about my faith to an interested co-worker, (who was also fired) I took up homeschooling my then-8-year-old daughter. Several months later, her father abandoned us and threatened to take my daughter away.

I barely know anyone because we’d moved to the area from another state just a few years before. The people we do know are from work, or the new congregation we’d been attending. I have no job, no savings, no financial resources, a twenty-year old car, and winter is looming. I couldn’t be more scared out of my mind.

My “relationship” with God was pretty new, and I didn’t know what to do. The phrase I hear in my head is, “God inhabits the praises of His people.” Maybe it’s a message from the divine. I rarely had to trust in God the way I have to at that point, and I’m out of options.

My daughter is precious to me, for numerous reasons. I didn’t want to lose her. At that time of my life, not much made sense—least of all the conventional—and if singing is going to usher in the Almighty, I wanted Him in my corner to help me figure out a few things. Worst of all is the nagging doubt, how am I going to get through this?

Instead of crying, complaining and partnering with the negative fear talk (that didn’t work out for the Israelites so well…), I do the one thing that seems completely and utterly ridiculous.

When night begins chasing the sun to the horizon, I stand in the front room and sing worship songs at the top of my lungs. I sing like my life depends on it. I sing on the days I’m most terrified, have the most questions and bills and least amount of resources. I sing songs that speak of good things to come, that call out for Him to answer me, that remind me He is always with me. I sing until I no longer feel afraid. I didn’t tell her any of that. And I think I’m most astonished that this is a good memory for her.

What does this mean for you?

It would have been very easy to fall down the rabbit hole of fear, to buy into the lie that my life was over and a hundred other negative comments that swirled around me. But I would not give them my voice. I refused to let them take up space in my thinking. But they were always pounding on the door.

Of course, it’s hard to say exactly how much my singing helped us survive those years. We had a lot of tough days. When they came, I’d say with all the hope and confidence I could muster, “It isn’t always going to be like this.”

I think she wanted to believe that as much as I did. Then I’d share my vision of how our lives will look one day.

“One day, we’ll buy our own food from any store we want (instead of the food pantry.) One day, we’ll take a vacation somewhere that we choose (not with family because our budget is thin.) One day, we’ll buy our clothes wherever we want and not even look at the tag (instead of the thrift store.) One day I’ll pay cash for a brand new car (because I’ve always had older, used cars. I’m still holding out for that one.)”

None of the worries that threatened me came to pass: I didn’t become homeless or fall between the cracks of society; I didn’t lose my daughter or get into a custody battle. Those concerns played on a continuous loop. I didn’t fear stop me from living my life, making memories with my daughter or taking even more chances. Or even wanting and expecting more from life. I wasn’t paralyzed with fear.

I had no well-formed network nor family nearby that could help. I was grateful for every single blessing YHVH sent my way, and there were hundreds. My life being a wreck was what made me notice them. Most were people through which came opportunities. Instead of being afraid to entertain them, afraid to implement them, I took chances. I understood them to be open doors leading somewhere. I said yes as often as I was able.

After four years, I left the farmhouse for a city house—another blessing. We saw God show up in impossible, silly, unconventional situations. He made a way when there seemed to be no way. He didn’t always answer prayers the way I thought He would, but He did always answer.

 What about you?

Has fear ever tried to choke the life out of you? Is there something in your life that has you shaking? Struggling? Maybe you can’t even talk about it, but it rolls around in your head on those nights when you can’t sleep. Who’s in your corner?

Two decades later, I said to my daughter, “Look how far we’ve come!” And she said, “Far!” All of those visions of the future did come to pass. Well, I haven’t paid cash for a car yet, but my car is new and paid for.

If my daughter hadn’t reminded me, I wouldn’t have remembered the singing days. My daughter remembers it as a special time. And, I’m still here, I’m stronger for it. And you will be too when you get to the other side of it. And, you’ll have a great story to tell or a song to write. Bank on that.