I’ve sung my whole life. For forty years I’ve written songs and even been awakened in the morning with new songs on the tip of my tongue, until about five years ago when the singing stopped.
I knew that something shut down inside, because for the first time in my life melody wasn’t bubbling up from deep within. Previously I sang when things were good and I sang when things were bad. I also knew I couldn’t “fix” the gift that I didn’t initiate in the first place, but I suspected that my trouble was mistakenly basing my outlook only on what I could see. That kind of perspective would dash anyone’s hope.
Hope is a powerful thing. In fact, hope has a lot to do with how we interpret circumstances, how we look at the future and define things that do not yet exist. I’m typically a Pollyanna, but sometimes when the manifestation of hope wanes, the lack I perceive through my natural sight causes a feeling of deficit. That’s when the opportunity presents itself to choose how I will interpret what I cannot yet see.
Even though I hadn’t entirely recognized it, there had been tremendous fruitfulness in my life over the last several years. I only needed to recalibrate how I looked and what I saw. And that’s when I heard, “This is the year of singing.”
My hope has been popping off the charts over the last year. It’s not that every circumstance in my life has fallen into place, but rather that my hope and faith perspective have recalibrated. Hope is the substance of things yet to be seen.
Hope is consistently singing over every single one of us if we will tune in to hear the new song. This is the year of recognizing and embracing hope. This is the year of the songbirds returning.
Anne Lamott quoted her pastor in a Face Book post saying,
“It’s not what you look at; it’s what you look with.”
Sometimes what we see at first glance is not what actually exists, but a misrepresentation. Through time we often discover and recover the depth of what is actually there.
Years ago a prophetic sort of fellow said to me that I had the ability to get the songbird up and singing again. I had the ability to mine the gold out of misfortune. Interestingly, all those many years ago, I had no idea that I would be the songbird that needed to reconnect to her song after 3 ½ years of silence and an inability to sing.
I’m not talking about technique, vocal prowess or the ins and outs of song writing. Although that is great stuff, I am talking about the truth that resonated with my heart spoken at the Nashville Tree House Songwriter’s Retreat by my friend Paulette Wooten. She spoke about the necessity of using the gifts we’ve been given. She reminded us that if we had a song we needed to sing it. We needed to sing it for ourselves.