My Strength, My Song

“Are you sure you want to go to church?”

I slipped into my bright Easter coat and said to my husband, “I’ll be fine.”

Joe had every right to be concerned. Six months earlier, after my daddy had passed, it became impossible for me to attend church services. I could not get through the service without crying. I don’t do quiet crying. My nose gets all stuffed up, my mascara runs and I end up choking loudly on my sobs. After embarrassing myself more than once, I quietly gave up. I had even missed the Christmas service.

Now it was Easter. Our daughter, Katy, had been released from the hospital after 12 days and was about to begin treatments for metastatic melanoma. If ever there was a time to cry in church, this would be it.

But I had begun practicing intentional gratitude. Being thankful made me stronger. And this day, Easter Sunday, because Katy was home and she and her husband were able to join us for dinner, I wanted to go to church and say “thank you” to God.

Still, as we entered, I moved toward the last pews in case I had to make a quick getaway. Then the choir started singing, and I blinked away the tears that were threatening to come. These were my favorite hymns, songs of new beginnings. I opened my hymnal and sang like it was the first time ever.