I can’t remember now where, or when, I heard Your voice. That memory escapes me, fuzzy and murky like trees in a foggy forest. But I remember Your voice as clearly as if Your words were spoken to me a moment ago. They echoed in my head for days at a time when I questioned everything: my path, my talent, my being. I heard You, somehow, and it made me cry to realize how afraid I was to keep doing what I do. I was on the verge of throwing in the towel and I didn’t even know it. I had become so tired, so worn down.
But I heard You.
I don’t know, yet, how I will continue, nor what lies in store, but I heard You. And after three days of tears and worry, I realize that this is my calling. I live in an uncertain and sometimes frightening world, but perhaps that is why I am.
I started going to church again. I admit I don’t understand much beyond the very basic truths (I am a sub par student), but I hear an echo of You every time I sing, and that makes a perfect, delicate, beautiful sense.