| |
“I’M SORRY IF I STARTLED you.” Grandma Lucy stood up from her pew and made her way slowly to the front of the sanctuary.
Katrina hadn’t invited an audience. Didn’t want an audience. But there was something warm in Grandma Lucy’s gaze when she said, “I don’t have to be a musical genius to recognize the sound of a troubled heart when I hear one.” She stared at Katrina, a frank and open gaze that made her wish she were still concealed in the cramped cry room.
“I didn’t realize anyone was here.”
“I wasn’t trying to intrude on your private time. I just stopped over with my niece to drop off some blankets for the women’s shelter, and I heard the pain in your song and wanted to come and talk to you.” She sat on the step of the stage and beckoned for Katrina to join her. “Now tell me, if the Lord is the source of your hope and joy, why does your music sound so wounded?”
How were you supposed to answer a question like that?
Katrina felt like a small child getting lectured for not practicing her scales properly. She wanted to find a polite way to end the conversation, but still, just like so many other times, she’d lost her voice.
Grandma Lucy reached out and squeezed Katrina’s hand in hers. “The child. It was you who lost the child, wasn’t it?”
Katrina nodded, grateful that she had poured out so much of her angst into her music. Without that sort of outlet, she’d be likely to start crying in front of this near stranger.
A stranger who held her hand tightly and refused to let it go.
“You know there’s no reason for you to feel guilty. It’s nothing that could have been prevented.”
Katrina nodded. Still, how was that supposed to offer any comfort? It wouldn’t magically make her pregnant again or bring her child back to life.
Grandma Lucy shut her eyes, and her body began to sway slightly. Either that, or Katrina was dizzy from the intensity of her emotions. Playing her violin tonight had been like releasing a dam, all the tension and sorrow and anger and frustration she had kept pent up for the past several months came cascading down around her. She was tired. Too tired to play anymore, but still not ready to go home to face her husband yet.
Which was just as well, since Grandma Lucy apparently had no plans of allowing her to leave anyway.
“Father God,” she began, still squeezing Katrina’s hand in hers, “I come before you boldly in Jesus’ name asking that you release your precious daughter from these burdens that weigh her down. I ask in Jesus’ name that whatever guilt she feels would be conquered by the power of your cross. I pray that the timidity that’s been thrust upon her shoulders would be released, that you would birth in her a courage and boldness that she’s never known before. I pray that you would straighten her spiritual spine like you did for the crippled woman two thousand years ago, that she would no longer be bent down and hunched over by the weight of her sorrows and insecurities. I speak release over her today. Release from fear. Release from feeling like she’s unheard or overlooked. Release from the enemy who has tried to steal her voice from her, who has lied to her and told her that she has no right to speak up and make her opinion known. I pray that she and her new husband would enjoy the harmony that can only come when two people who love each other have submitted their lives thoroughly to you. May she be an encouragement to her husband. May she stand by him through trials and tribulations, and may you sweeten their time together and give them reprieve from these battles they’ve been fighting.”
Grandma Lucy released Katrina’s hand, which had started to tremble, and placed both palms on Katrina’s abdomen. Even through her sweater the touch was fiery. Powerful.
Grandma Lucy’s eyes were shut, and when Katrina glanced at her face, it was lit with a radiance unlike anything she had seen before. It wasn’t a halo, but if she had been a painter, it would be the only way she could symbolize the majesty and radiance that shone from her countenance. A smile crept through the myriad wrinkles on the old woman’s face as she prayed. “Heavenly Father, powerful healer, you are the God who gives and takes away. And you gave this young mother a child, a child she was never able to hold, but a child that she loves. A child she still mourns even though she tries to be so brave and courageous. We don’t know why you chose to take this baby from her and her husband, but we pray that she would not be like the mother who refuses to be comforted, Lord, because your Holy Spirit is the balm of Gilead. Your Holy Spirit covers over our sorrows, works redemption, and heals our wounds. So heal her wounds, dear Lord. Heal my sister’s suffering. Look upon her and all she and her husband have endured, restore their joy and love for one another, and may they rest assured that your good plans for them will never fail.”