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Finding My Voice
Whirling and twirling, my sister and I spun about pretending to be ballerinas as Tchaikovsky’s “Swan Lake” and “The Nutcracker” played on the “record player” with the silver spindle that kept the “45s” in place. Oh, the freedom we felt as we embraced the music and the moment.
As we grew older, my sister and I exchanged our “ballet slippers” for the reality of piano lessons and youth choir. My sister was the singer, and I was the piano player. As we followed our individual musical journeys, I found my hands. She found her voice.
Despite not having a voice that I considered on par with my sister or my voice major colleagues in college, I longed to make music with my voice as well as with my fingers. I had not learned that a stunning set of vocal chords do not a singer make. Competition instead of completion robbed me of searching for my own voice for many years. Comparing myself with others kept me from sharing my own voice.
The ability to accompany singers and singing groups on a piano or keyboard is an art in itself, and I spent much time doing this as the years progressed. Still, the nagging question came, “Where is my voice?” as I settled for my hands.
The Lord used my hands in service, prayer and praise. Life happened, and my voice got lost in the hurry up and waits, the pain and joy of a life lived in the trenches of a busy, growing family.
Through the joy, pain and suffering, I have found my voice, my unique poetic gift. Through the printed page, it speaks in beauty and touches the lives of others. It fills my entire being with music. It sings in my soul.
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