In that moment, I decided that maybe I could open myself up again by opening my mouth to lift a song. Attending mass was completely painful anyway, so why not sing with my husband and lead worship to offer as a distraction? Little did I know how much this decision would change things for me.
At that first mass, in that first song of true and profound prayer (because I didn’t even know how to pray anymore), I felt her, and I felt heaven, and I had a vision of her eternity of praising God the Father, endlessly. And it kept me going. Week by week.
“I will send out an army to find you in the middle of the darkest night...
I will never stop marchin’ to reach you in the middle of the hardest fight...
I hear you whisper underneath your breath. I hear you whisper you have nothing left...
It’s true, I will rescue you...”
How much longer will I be able to keep this up? How much more will be asked of me? I miss her. I miss her so much. And I cry out to my God who gave and took: Speak to me! Speak to me. Because at your command, these waters can be stilled. Your voice can calm the waters raging within (“the sea in me”).