Words of the soul...

I am a word person, although not, by nature, especially chatty.  I force myself to be social and outgoing in the business world, because it is required of me.  And my closest friends and family think I never stop talking, because I am comfortable enough with them to share my real being with them.

But my natural inclination is for solitude and quiet.  I am thought filled, although I keep most of my thoughts to myself.  In my happiest moments, I am still and at peace, which in my mind, at least, is a darkened, quiet spot where I am at rest.

But my mind is rarely at rest. A million thoughts are zinging around in my head every second, and I sometimes have difficulty sorting them out or even putting them into any coherent order.  I say very little of what I think - there is no point, especially in this day, because no one really seems to listen any more.  But I continue to think unceasingly.

Words are important to me.  Each word has a different nuance, a different feel, a different tone, and I usually choose my words quite carefully.  I try to mean what I do say, and say only what I mean (although that doesn't always work out the way I intend it to!)

But there may come a day when words fail me.  As I grow older, the thoughts may settle, and the mind may cease its rushing around.  What then?  What will be in my head?  How will I communicate?  How will I continue to be a part of the world?  What will be meaningful if I lose my ability to think?  How will I communicate?  Will I matter?

Music is a universal language.  It touches not only our mind, but our very soul.  Long after the words are gone, music continues.

My dear aunt, who lost most of her mind to Alzheimer's, continued to sing the familiar and beloved songs she learned in childhood until her very last days.  The notes, the words, the tunes - they were all there, perfect, complete, intact.  Music transcended the disease that stole her mind, and brought, for a few moments, peace and comfort, even in the midst of the wilderness she was in.  And that comfort came, not only to my aunt, but to all of those who loved her, as well.  Music was part of her essence, and the essence remained even as the present became fuzzy.

The last time I visited her, she was sitting at a table, gently singing "Jesus Loves Me."  She was smiling as she sang, each word solid and each note pitch perfect.  She was clearly at peace, uplifted in the familiar words she had known all her life.  She didn't know me, but she knew God, and as I hummed along with her, she gave me a momentary smile that made me think somewhere deep inside her, we connected one more time.  Even though she may not have known me for myself, she knew were both children of the same God.

In that moment, it was enough for her, and maybe even for me, despite the heartbreak of missing her though she was right in front of me.  Words come from the mind, and the mind is fragile and sometimes fleeting.  But music?  That comes from the soul.  It can't be stolen because it is a part of our very being.

My passion for music is within me, a gift from God to me.  I sing and play, not because I have to, but because it is my way of communing with God and celebrating the spiritual life he gave me.

Ephesians 5:18b-19 tells us,

"...be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another with psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit. Sing and make music from your heart to the Lord...."

Wherever I go, whatever I do, music will always be my gift from the Spirit.  It is the words of my soul, a song of thanksgiving to the God who loves me and is with me no matter what life brings.  God is near when I have a song in my soul.