Every Day is a Song
Goth. Emo. Witch. Lonely. Rebel. Angry.
Words I used to describe myself for four years.
After a detached Catholic upbringing, I came to lose value in more than just my faith, but also my life. And, through the power of our Lord, something changed me. I still don’t know exactly what within me changed, or what part of me changed… But I do know that it was a miracle from God.
My mother and father are devout Catholics, but I never shared that sentiment growing up. The church felt detached, like God sat on a pedestal and didn’t love us enough to interact with us. I didn’t really see him in my life; I only saw him in plastic flesh above the altar.
Over time, underneath the pressures of the world, I began to feel more and more negative about myself. I hated my body, my hair, the way I acted, the way I spoke; I hated my grades, my parents, my life. I felt like I didn’t matter. Often, I would dream of what would happen if I killed myself. In every vision I conjured, no one came to my funeral. No one cried. Everyone just paid their dues and left me in my coffin, forgotten under the ground.
I started to cut myself. First at the wrists, and then when my parents found out, at my easily-hidden ankles. I wanted to die, and I came close to doing so. But every time, something stopped me. Three times, I was close. But I never crossed that line, and each time, I would call myself a coward, and eventually feel even worse about myself.
This grew into a vicious circle, and I reached out for someone to help me. I’d given up on God, given up on me helping myself. I refused to tell my parents. My friends didn’t help at all; instead, they actually enabled me. Not even the therapist I had been set up to see did me any good. And this just caused me to think less, and less, and less about my life.
What was I living for? If I couldn’t do anything right, why was I still alive? Why did I waste other’s time? Why did I even try to fix myself? I was incurable; there was no hope for me.
The greatest gift God gave me was a change in scenery. Because my father was in the military, we moved around a lot, and as a result, I had to move out to Arizona with my mother. She started bringing me to church, and though I saw it as a requirement at the time, more and more something would speak to me. I would see so many people fixated on the Eucharist, witnessed people basking in the love of God, and I longed for that same happiness. Never had I thought that I would find it in church, in God, in this entity I thought had abandoned me long ago.
Only scars remained of my wounds. All that was left was true healing of the scar tissue, and a little bit of fading.
After a while, my mother convinced me to join the contemporary choir. I was hesitant, still skeptical, but I loved singing. Music has always been a great love of mine; before I moved, I considered it to be my savior, the thing that kept me alive. But now, hearing the word of God translated into these beautiful songs, taking to heart every note, every crescendo, every emotion…
It was like nothing I had ever experienced before.
It’s my personal belief that to be a true singer and to truly translate a song, you have to understand what you’re singing. You have to embrace the words within yourself, feel the passion, and be able to take that feeling and portray it so strongly that others feel exactly what the song is trying to convey. God knew this. He put me in that choir. He spoke to me through song; every time I sing of Him now, I cry. I can’t help it. His unconditional love, his healing hands, his absolute beauty and glory…
Suddenly it all made sense.
And for the first time in four years, my scars had faded to nothingness, blending in with my skin.
The thought of killing myself hasn’t crossed my mind since then. Not a single cut, save for the random scrape and fall, adorns this body. Now, I see myself as one of the Lord’s choir members, meant to sing her heart out in his love and might. And not just in song; now, I seek to do so in life.
Consider this: “You are the light of the world. A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden… Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father” (Mat 5:14, 16). When you sing, it’s like a light. No one can turn you off, no one can not hear you, and no one can mute you. Hence, I’ve chosen to live my life the same way I chose to sing: with my whole heart, with my whole soul, embracing the word of God and his love so close to my heart that I feel like I can open my mouth and pierce someone else with the same emotion. I’ve come to realize that living is much better than dying; valuing this incredible gift from God is paramount. But why?
Because you can’t sing if you’re dead.
Today, instead of feeling incomplete, instead of resenting my life, I thank God every day for it. I thank God that I can live and appreciate his works, appreciate the wonderful things he’s done for me and continues to do. And every day, I sing for him… In my life and in my words. Yes, I’m off pitch sometimes, or I miss a beat… but every day is still a song.
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Every Day is a Song
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