“Now that you’ve retired, Ma, what do you plan to do?” her children asked as she returned home on her last day at the office.
“Join the church choir,” she announced, her eyes shining.
The children stared at her in disbelief. “But Ma, you don’t know how to sing.”
She smiled. “Ah, my children, but I have much to sing about. When your father passed on, the Lord took over. I have a song for the comfort He gave me. When I was jobless and penniless, He gave me the will to succeed. I want to praise Him. And now that I finally have time, I want to sing for Him. What better time than Christmas?”
The choir conductor looked at her doubtfully. “I admire your enthusiasm,” he said gently, “but here we need voices.”
“Ah, that I have, my son, that I have,” she replied eagerly. “A voice that will glorify the Lord’s name. A voice that will shout and bring the rafters down. A voice that will rise above all others. And”
“And what?” the conductor asked, suddenly uneasy.
“And it’s Christmas,” she continued. “What better time to sing praises to the little Babe in the manger. I remember that first Christmas after my Ben died. There was no money for sweets and I cried out to Him above. Then the bell rang and the neighbours walked in with the most delicious cakes. I remember”
“Yes, yes,” the conductor interrupted irritably. “But do you have a voice?”
“A voice that will bring the roof down with praise and thanksgiving.”
The conductor glanced nervously at the old church roof. “We will have to do a voice test,” he said, moving to the piano. “Sing the scales with me.”
She went home forlorn.
Her children, no longer little and all settled into good professions because of her sacrifices, noticed her sadness at once.
“What happened, Ma?” they asked.
“I don’t have a voice to sing,” she said quietly.
“Of course you do.”
“I failed the voice test.”
They looked at one another and smiled. Then, as if rehearsed, they spoke together. “Ma, we will arrange a concert for you. Just family. You write your carols of praise to the God who stood by you. We will come with our families and hear you sing.”
That Christmas, as the choir sang in the old church under the conductor’s careful direction, the congregation sensed something missing. That night, during his prayers, the conductor asked, “Heavenly Father, what was missing today?”
“Ah,” replied the Heavenly Father, “we were all down the road listening to the woman with the broken voice. My angels and I.”
“But she has no voice,” the conductor protested.
“A voice rising from a thankful heart, my son, is worth a million that come from the throats of professional singers,” came the reply. “Words rushing out in praise are pearls, far richer than those composed by poets and lyricists.”
The next morning, the children were surprised to find the conductor standing at their door.
“Join the choir,” he whispered to her. “It is voices like yours that gladden God’s heart at Christmas…!”
The Author conducts an online, eight session Writers and Speakers Course. If you’d like to join, do send a thumbs-up to WhatsApp number 9892572883 or send a message to bobsbanter@gmail.com
