Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Singing (10/31/05)
TITLE: The Voice of the Angel
By Theresa Veach
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Iíll never forget the sound of her voice. It was so pure in pitch she had to be from Godís handpicked and personal choir. Every time my path got too narrow, or my way got too steep, she would begin to sing again. Her voice would compel me to keep going. I just had to see the face and look into the eyes of the one who was singing me onward, of the one who was beckoning me home.
I had almost reached the top of the mountain; a few more steps and I would be able to enter into my true homeland. By now I could hear whole choruses of angels singing, masses of them praising the one True God, glorifying The Great ďI Am.Ē My heart began to race, my footsteps grew lighter, and my soul began to soar on the sound of their song. As I flew higher, I began to breathe in a wonderful smellóthe sweetly scented serenade of home. I was almost there.
In my dream, I never made it to the other side of the mountain. I had awakened too soon. The mountain I had been climbing was suddenly gone. The feeling of flight had immediately given way to the weight of my flesh. The sweet scent of home had faded fast from all memory. In my dream, I hadnít been able to finish the climb. I hadnít been able to find the place where the angels sing. Most of all, I hadnít been able to see the face and look into the eyes of the one who had been singing me onward, the one who was beckoning me home.
Fully awake now, I laid there in the stillness of my earthly bed, alone and disheartened. Then, from out of the silence, I heard something. Yes, there it was again, that voice, the voice of the angel. Even though I was awake, I could still hear her singing. I got out of bed and followed her voice down the hallway and into her room. There she was, my daughter, standing in her crib, holding onto the rail, swaying back and forth-- and singing with the voice of the angel.
I picked her up and started to sing with her. My soul began to soar once again on the sound of our song. As I kissed her face, I breathed in a wonderful smell-- the sweetly scented serenade of home. Asleep or awake, I had made it to the top of the mountain after all. I had made it to where the angels sing. I was finally able to look into the face and into the eyes of the one who had been singing to me in my dream. To this day, every time my path gets too narrow or my way gets too steep, I hear her voice, the voice of the angel who still sings me onward, who still beckons me home.
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