Bittersweet Sounds

When I was a little girl I would stand upon the wooden pew next to my dad as he sang hymns with the congregation. I was mesmerized with his then visible Adam's apple. It wiggled and bounced with his falsettos and harmonies. I would sometimes reach over and touch the vibration, I still remember the wonder of it all. He would look at me and chuckle because it is a goofy thing only a child would do. He never scorned me for it. He delighted in me.

From choir rehearsals to singing CCR & Air Supply in the car to playing records to singing along with Jesus Christ Superstar, there was always music of some kind. He always had a song in his heart.
I now realize this is where my sing-song-slightly-annoying-type-parenting probably comes from.

Oh well, one day maybe they'll appreciate such a skill!

As an adult with my own family sometimes if we'd make it to the same service as my parents we'd sit with them. I could always pick out my dad's voice next to me. What a sweet sound. He loved to sing songs to the Lord.

Over the last two years every time I'm at church, which honestly hasn't been as often, I can hear his voice during worship. I can hear the harmonies he might have sang. I'm usually overwhelmed and somewhat distracted because the sound is so bittersweet. I don't want to ever forget it but I know within a few minutes the pastor will say "turn around and greet one another" and I'm sure I'm red faced because I've been trying to push down these disobeying hot tears.

Maybe I will be the proof that we're all broken and hurting inside and in need of a Savior. My faith has been shaken since his death. Shook to the core. I have accepted this bittersweet gift of hearing his voice as a reminder that the Lord is good and He hasn't forgotten about me, His Daughter.