Sing Me To Heaven

I don't know if I would call myself religious. I don't even know that I would call myself spiritual (although I wish I could). I think one of the most crushing aspects of depression is that it vacuums from your soul any sense of the divine (along with sense of self, Joy, self-confidence, faith, deep, resonant laughter, and about a thousand other things). At least, in my experience, I feel as though depression really robbed my heart of the ability to feel God in myself and all around me.

This morning, though, when I was walking Callie, I felt God. And I'm not really sure what I mean by 'God.' I self-identify as a Christian, having been raised a regular church-going Presbyterian, and having been a student at an Episcopalian school for 13 years. But I don't know that, at the present, I have any more connection to Christianity than I would if I had been raised in Judaism, Buddhism, Muslim, etc. I like the structure that religion provides--I love the rhythm of a service, the repetition of hymns and prayers, the sanctuary I always find in a designated holy place. But every religion provides those things. So although I consider myself Christian, I'm still not sure what that really means. But we'll save that loaded question for another post.

What's on my mind today is that this morning, I am sure that God was around me. I walked outside (early, the sun had just risen), and as soon as I stepped out of the Residence and into the light, it was as if I was seeing the day through new lenses. Sound contrived? Yes. Is it sincere? Absolutely. Everything was perfectly still and quiet (except for birds chirping. Which did add a nice effect to my pretty picture, I'll be honest). The sky was gray and the air felt cold on my cheeks and my fingertips.

But it was really the stillness that was striking. Usually I walk Callie about half an hour later, when the day has begun for most people--the maintenance men are here, cars are whizzing past me, school buses are picking up children on every corner--but today (since it was early Sunday morning), there was no one out. I saw one car from a distance, and saw not a soul. It was as if I was stepping into this holy moment with God--just myself (& Callie) and God.

I could feel my breathing ease. I walked slower. Looked around more. Slowly sipped my mug of hot tea. Patiently watched Callie sniff every single inch of every single piece of ground that we covered. Even though I was outside, in full view of the world (at least the Bryn Mawr world), the time felt very private, and very sacred.

So when I get panicked this week, and want to do nothing else but cry , wrap myself up in a ball, make a strong drink, and go to bed, I'm going to try to remember the stillness and peace that I felt this morning. I really believe that God was in me and around me. And I haven't felt that for a long time.

The title of this post is 'Sing Me To Heaven,' a reference to the beautiful choral piece. The Saints Singers sang it in high school, and I still find it to be one of the loveliest pieces of art I have ever experienced. The music and the lyrics are both luminous. I'll end with the first verse of the piece.

In my heart's sequestered chambers lie truths stripped of poet's gloss.

Words alone are vain and vacant and my heart is mute.

In response to aching silence memory summons half-heard voices.

And my soul finds primal eloquence and wraps me in song.