2018 was a beating and I’m glad it’s over. I went into 2018 pretty vocal about it – the good, the bad, and the painful. I came out of it and into 2019 humbled and bruised to say the least – with the biggest bruise coming to my physical voice.

“Busy” kept me from blogging as I felt overwhelmed with work, with life, with responsibilities, and with myself. Days turned into weeks, weeks into a quarter, then Thanksgiving, work trauma, then intentional silence. I had no idea how or when to pick up the pen again because I’d been silent so long at that point.

Then, over the course of a few weeks near the end of the year, I noticed my voice sounded hoarse. I asked those closest to me who couldn’t hear a difference. Then Shabbat came. I started to sing the prayer as I have for many years over the candles and the voice I used to trust to come out strong, steady, and secure was broken, off key, unsteady. I tried to sing worship songs in church and had the same experience.

It’s allergies I thought, it will be better. Except it didn’t. My dad noticed. Singing was impossible so I gave up.

I went silent.

The silence that started in my pen made its way to my throat.

My wise physician diagnosed vocal nodules then referred me for voice therapy. At first I laughed. Funny to do voice / speech therapy as an adult.

Last week, I had the first diagnostic session with A Tempo Voice Center (http://www.atempovoicecenter.com/) and Kristie was kind, explained everything, made me to the weirdest things (she warned me and encouraged me when I faltered), then she asked me to sing the Shabbat song. So I did.

I cried. I just couldn’t. It was work to release the sound through a tight and clinched throat. I cried some more.

She said it was beautiful – I laughed.  If only she knew how I used to sound – it was better than this feeble, raspy, weak attempt. The prayer, especially when sang, is exquisite to me. It ushers in peace and hope. What I once proudly sang with joy and vigor, I squeaked out in shame. I was embarrassed. Ashamed. Sad – so very sad. Hopeless. I cried some more. I apologized and she said it was a normal reaction. Normal I ask – yes she said calmly, normal.

Kristie said something that day that has been ruminating with me ever since: your voice is a part of your identity – it is normal to be emotional when a part of your identity is threatened or even lost.

While I still “speak” normally – mostly, just a little deeper, singing is another story.

For the first time in my adult life I cannot sing whatever I want, whenever I want. I silently whisper out a few words of a verse but you probably wouldn’t hear it. Talking is hard and even painful – especially the later in the day it goes.

The sadness is real, heavy, and enveloping – especially Shabbat and Sunday.

Since my assessment with Kristie, I’ve been rolling over and over the connection between voice and identity. Voice Scientists are even studying “voice prints” – like a fingerprint – but made with your voice. Some banks even use voice prints as a dynamic password (here, here, and here). Think about it – I answer a call from a number I know. Multiple people live there and share the phone – I only know which one it is when I say hello and they respond.

I believe God is always trying to speak to us if we will just listen. And, as I’ve prayed about the issues I’m walking through with my voice, God has begun to peal back layers of hurt, and of transgressions to show me areas of pride I needed to repent of, ares where I’ve caused brokenness that need to be healed, and areas where wasted words have brought contention. God has used this time of a silenced singing voice to bring a time of recalibration and rest. When I asked God for a word for this year all I kept hearing over and over was “hush.” Multiple times I have heard “shhhhhhh” in my spirit – the kind of quiet, shushing sound you’d make to sooth an upset child. Well, here I sit, quiet, “shushed,” waiting.

In the Hebrew, the word “Hacah” (Strongs H2013) means to command to be silent – to hush, to keep silent and to be silent, to be still, to hold your peace, to hold your tongue.

Spiritually, I am telling my heart, mind, and voice to “Hacah”.

The voice therapy should take 6 weeks and while there is no ‘known’ cause, the onset is related to a traumatic event I walked through in November 2018. I have opened my heart fully expecting that God can and will heal and fully restore my voice. But, like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego, I know that even if I can never sing the Shabbat Prayer beautifully again, God is still good and I will still choose to praise Him.

My voice – your voice – it is a powerful thing. How will our voice be a tool in God’s hands today – a tool that brings life, builds bridges, repairs hearts?  I am picking my pen back up – the pen of a ready writer – and am ready to take note of the things He wishes to speak. For now, I will treasure what He speaks and release what He says. And if my voice quivers, I will continue – with pen or tongue – to speak life because the voice is a powerful weapon.

“…But if you do not worship, you shall be cast immediately into the midst of a burning fiery furnace. And who is the god who will deliver you from my hands?” Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego answered and said to the king, “O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to answer you in this matter. If that is the case, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and He will deliver us from your hand, O king. ¹⁸ But if not, let it be known to you, O king, that we do not serve your gods, nor will we worship the gold image which you have set up.” (Daniel 3:15-18)