I like to sing. Not necessarily because I’m exceptionally skillful in that department, but just because it lifts my spirits. I feel a little happier, the load feels a little lighter, when I’m singing.

For a while though, you wouldn’t hear me belting out the lyrics of “When I Fall in Love” {as performed in High School Show Choir} around our house. Because somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I’d become convinced that it probably got on the Hubs’ nerves to hear me squawking out a song, whether the lyrics were from my latest favorite Christian song or a century-old anthem.

Not wanting to annoy him, I decided to hush.

But when I came home from the hospital with our second precious baby boy, I was singing to the rafters again. My justification was that it’s good for babies. It’s good for them to hear music, it’s good for you to talk to them, and in the Tank’s case, it kept him peaceful through a lengthy diaper change and helped him fall asleep.

So, at the risk of spraying the Hubs in the face with a bottle of annoying, I decided to wholeheartedly sing. A lot.


And then a funny thing happened. He wrote me a card — I think for Mother’s Day — and one of the things he said was, “I love how you fill our house with music. I love it when you sing.”

I could not have been more surprised. I was so surprised I had to ask him about it.

Doesn’t it annoy you when I sing? You mean I don’t get on your nerves?

The answer was no — and I realized a little lie had crept in, and I’d been letting that little lie tell me what to do, and what not to do. Meanwhile, something was missing from our home — a source of joy was nearly stolen, because un-truth had become truth for me.

I don’t know whether you have an awesome singing voice or the ability to make music with an instrument, but I want you to know that your life can sing.

You have your own lyrics. You have your own gifts. And sometimes fear of how other people will receive your gifts can hinder you from giving them. Fear of what other people will say or think about your art can incorrectly define you — whether your art includes baking or dancing or teaching people how to manage their finances or serving a cup of coffee with a smile.

Un-truth will draw lines, put boundaries around places in your mind and in your life. Un-truth will tell you where you can or cannot go, what you can or cannot do.

But there’s no one like you. And no one can achieve the things you were created for.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made.

And that is the truth.

We are God’s workmanship — created in Jesus for good works, which God planned out before we were even born — a plan for what He gifted us to do with our lives. {Eph. 2:10, my paraphrase}

So what’s stopping you from making your music? Are you letting your life sing?