My throat looks like Rudolph’s nose and swollen, my sinuses are protesting loudly like hammering tiny little fists against my skull, and swallowing feels like I am forcing a fist down. I have spent most of the past couple of days in silence and I think I’ve consumed at least a gallon of hot tea a day.
I was supposed to speak Sunday morning but this cold stole my voice and my energy, reducing me to a pile of bones and muscle dragging about the house.
I know it may sound coincidental to some, but not to me. It seems I am always fighting for my voice.
Soft spoken most of the time I often go unheard. When I speak, to my ears, it often sounds loud, slicing the air, and hanging there nervously, but to everyone else it’s just above the din and becomes lost amidst the noise.
Funny how we can perceive things so differently about ourselves than what is true.
As a child I had a song for everything. Grandpa and I would sit in the shade of the pecan trees and sing hymns together. When he was busy I would sit on the swing for hours content in writing my own spontaneous tunes. I proudly stood by him in the choir on Sunday mornings and sang my heart out. Older now and a music lover, I am deeply conscious of my pitchy, wavering voice so I tap out a rhythm instead.
At youth camp a counselor once told me God would use my voice. In middle school someone told me how ridiculous I sounded. Guess who I chose to believe?
Somewhere along the way the enemy stole my voice and the past few years I’ve been fighting to get it back. As a daughter of the King I have things to speak and they will be declared. I have songs to sing and I’m not out to win American Idol anyway.
Someone may have stolen my voice, but I’m taking it back!
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