I've always loved to sing. It's been my "thing" my entire life. Music is a part of who I am, how I function, the way I think and breathe; my constant need to sing is simply an overflow of the music that courses through my veins. Never one to excel at sports, I've always preferred the stage, whether it's hamming it up in a musical, singing praises to God as a worship leader in chapel and church, or getting scolded for drowning out the other mezzo-sopranos in choir. Singing has always been as innate to me as my own heartbeat, and just as hard to imagine my life without.

Which is why the past year has felt like a heart attack.

You see, during the summer of 2015, I got diagnosed with an autoimmune virus that targeted my blood cells. The steroids prescribed to treat it worked (thank Jesus!) but arguably left just as much collateral damage as they helped heal; though I've been off the medicine for over a year, I still feel the effects and wonder if I'll ever be the same.

One of the worst ways the medicine affected me was that it made me very physically weak. It wasn't just that I was discouraged from exercising because the nature of my illness put me at a higher risk for internal bleeding should injury or strain occur (and who doesn't love a medical excuse to avoid the gym?). The medicine itself took away my strength and energy. It also made me more susceptible to other illnesses, because it weakened my immune system (the whole reason I was taking it to begin with!). This meant that a common cold, one that a healthy person could tackle in a few short days, hit me hard and lasted for weeks on end because I got them more frequently and couldn't fight them off with much strength.

What does this have to do with my voice, you're wondering? Well, the first time I suffered from one of these mega-colds, I lost my voice (the way cold-sufferers often do), and it never really recovered. I think my body was too weak to completely restore my vocal chords, and even now they feel damaged. Whereas I once was a "utility player" asset to a choir, in that my wide range allowed me to sing alto, soprano, or whatever was needed, I now hardly have a head voice (upper register). Songs I once sang effortlessly now are but a memory, because I know I'll never be able to reach the notes. Even songs that don't transcend my narrow range are difficult to sing because I get worn out and my voice gets shot after just a few run-throughs. I can't speak to someone for a prolonged period of time without getting a terribly hoarse throat, and my regular speaking voice has a rasp to it. I have even been known to launch into an uncontrollable coughing fit if I don't drink enough water (which, objectively, is pretty hilarious, if I do say.)

I'm not trying to sound whiny or ungrateful because I am incredibly thankful my treatment worked and my virus is at bay for the time being. However, I can't help but feel like a part of me has died. It's strange to not be able to do something so inherent to your being, or at least to only be able to do it to a severely reduced degree.

I was pretty upset with God for allowing my voice to be taken from me. Okay, to be honest, I was upset with God for allowing me to get sick in the first place because it resulted in me losing a lot more than my voice, but at least I could see the redemptive lessons through the other losses. The overall experience of having the virus ultimately brought me closer to God and taught me a lot, but this one little area, the issue of my voice, was one I didn't really comprehend. I understood that our talents aren't really ours but are given to us by God to bring Him glory, and we are to be good stewards of these gifts because they ultimately belong to Him. I knew that God could take them away whenever He wanted; after all, how many times had I (ironically, in retrospect) sang "you give and take away, you give and take away"? I just didn't understand why God chose this time to take away the gift when I felt that I still had a lot more time to get the most use out of it. I had worked hard to fight against panic attacks and other obstacles that had nearly gotten me to walk away from using my voice before; now that those battles were over, here was another that seemed more insurmountable than any of its predecessors: I physically could not sing. Forget any mental barriers; I literally did not possess the ability to do what I once could do, the way I could do it.

"Come on, God! If you just give me my voice back, I can glorify you SO MUCH MORE! Whatchu doin?!"

Look at the little human trying to bargain with God, trying to convince Him why HE, in His sovereignty, made a mistake.

The book of Job offers an interesting look at intense suffering. The man lost everything, from his health and wealth to his very own children, but still remained faithful to God. He did question Him at times, daring to demand an answer from the Almighty Father. Want to know what God said? If you ever need to be put in your place, read Job 38. God spends this chapter, and three more, reminding Job of how powerful He is. God is the one who created the heavens and earth, who reigns over all creation. Who was Job, and who am I, to question what He does? Surely His wisdom exceeds mine. If He had a reason to allow my voice to be damaged, surely the reason is one that will bring Him glory.

Job ultimately is restored in all that he lost, but that kind of ending is not guaranteed to everyone. I may never be able to sing like I used to, and I will be okay with that. You know why? Because I still can glorify Jesus. I still help lead worship at church and with friends at school. I still am able to worship Him through theatrical performances. Sure, the capacity to which I can do these things is greatly diminished, but I don't let it stop me from using the talent I still have. I've learned that God can still work through my brokenness and make it beautiful. It's a theme you can find anywhere, even in your own life, if you look hard enough, the theme of redeemed failures and imperfections.

But what's more, I've realized that you can worship God in many more ways than by singing to Him. Worship is about honoring Jesus with your life, not just the words that leave your mouth. I've realized that God has given me other talents that I had previously overlooked, and it's been very interesting to use them to honor Him.

I've realized that, like so many other instances in my life, I'd been worshipping the gift and not the Giver. I had been mourning the loss of a Thing, when I had 24/7 access to the Creator of that Thing, who was everything I loved about it and more, who was the very life-breath of that Thing. My purpose on this earth is to bring glory to God, which can be done through many avenues, of which singing is just one.

Maybe you are mourning the loss of something in your very life. Perhaps you, like me, have had to sit on the sidelines, watching your God-given talents diminish before your very eyes. Maybe you've lost a loved one, through death or through circumstance. In any way, I'm sure you're no stranger to loss in some way, shape, or form. I'm here to encourage you, to remind you that your worth as a person is not lessened, even if something you used to define yourself by is gone (the lesson here is that you should have never defined yourself by it in the first place). I'm here to tell you that your capacity to be used for God is just as strong as it was when you were serving Him with that person or through that gift. He knows what He's doing, and wouldn't have let this be taken from you if He ultimately would not be glorified through it even more.

Maybe He's doing it to teach you a lesson. Maybe He wants you to learn to rely on Him more. Maybe you're supposed to help others in your shoes who don't have the hope you have. I don't know. In any case, I hope you look through the sadness of your situation and find the lesson behind it.

Keep singing, friends! God is still good.