Halfway through our month at in Swaziland, I got hit by a nasty sinus infection. I went to bed on Thursday with a headache and woke up the following morning with my throat and ears in such bad shape that it caused significant pain just to swallow, yawn, or even open my mouth.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been that sick. I’d had surgery on my sinuses three years ago to correct some problems and presumably keep me from getting infections, so it had been a while. Within a few miserable days the pressure moved out of my face and my throat was now the main victim. I could barely speak; my vocal cords simply weren’t having it.
A week went by and I was still in intense throat pain. All this time I was trying to direct a children’s choir three days a week as well as participate in squad worship. I’d lost my voice before, but it had never lasted this long, and I was starting to get concerned. Two of my squadmates are nurses and both of them were keeping tabs on me, so I knew it wasn’t too serious, but I just wanted my voice back. I love singing and not being able to do it drove me absolutely insane.
A few more days later and I could talk again. I no longer felt sick, but still wasn’t back to 100%. My singing voice was still hiding from me – I could squeak out a note or two in a limited range, but it was barely there. Two weeks in total went by and we were only about two days from leaving El Shaddai. I had spent half of my time there with a compromised voice, and it was time for the last night of all-squad worship. Anna and Shaylee led while I accompanied them on guitar and pathetically tried to sing along.
To wrap it up, Kyle came on to play and sing “Ever Be,” which happens to be one of my favorite worship songs these days. I so badly wanted to be able to sing, and as much as I tried, my efforts were futile. My voice still wasn’t up to par, and I was left to stand, dance, raise my hands, and be silent. It broke my heart to not be able to worship my Lord in the best way I know how.
It was then that a question entered my mind: one that I somehow knew had been posed my God. This doesn’t happen to me often, but when it does, it’s impossible to ignore.
“Sarah, would you still love me if I took your voice?”
Hmm. Obviously I knew what the answer was supposed to be, but this question left me paralyzed. Could I, or perhaps better, would I still worship if such an innate, beloved part of my being were stripped away? Now I know it does not define me, but if a source of joy, if a God-given gift, if this deep well were to run dry, where would I be?
I could find other ways to worship, naturally. I would find my metaphorical “voice” elsewhere, and learn to get by. Could I live? Of course. I am not so dramatic as to insinuate otherwise. At the very least I would be angry, but that would pass.
But could I love the one who withholds healing from me? Perhaps it would take a while, but yes, yes I could. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. What right does the clay have to question the potter? None, and I’ve learned time and time again that his plans are better than mine, and that pursuing his will is the only way.
Now a better question might be “could I still love myself?”
Voice or no voice, my heavenly father still loves me, but is that enough? I have never known myself without a voice – not necessarily a good voice, but I’ve always had one. Would I recognize myself without? Am I secure enough in my identity as a child of God?
I certainly hope so. I have to be. I cannot find my worth in the things of this world, for they are finite. Like Job, I must “sing” praises to my God no matter how things are going on my end. He is good; he is sovereign.
“Sarah, would you still love me if I took your voice?”
Yes, yes I would.
