Threshold

Entry 16 – Melodies Doorway

I’ve always loved singing deeply,

Not because I have a perfect voice (I don’t), but because something in me wakes up every time melody touches air.

Yet for years, I’ve held myself back. I sing quietly, almost secretly, because I’ve been reminded more than once:

“Your voice isn’t nice.”

And I’ve replied with a smile, “I know.”

But I still sang – for love, for peace, for me.

Today… I remembered that.

But let me start from last Sunday.

A woman looked at me in church, scanning my face like she’d seen something I didn’t know.

“What are you doing sitting there? Are you not part of the choir?” I shook my head.

She said I should join. I still said no.

Then she told me to at least go and sit with them.

How so? But I still agreed

A few minutes later, I picked up my bag, walked down to the front, and an empty chair – one that looked like it had been waiting for me – was pointed out and I was told to sit.

Just like that, I had unofficially joined the choir.

It sounds simple.

But for me, it wasn’t.

It felt like stepping into a dream I had been too frightened to claim.

During the service that same day, I watched an elderly woman walk up for testimony – slowly, one careful step after the other.

And it hit me:

This woman was once 25. Once 18. Once 14. Once cat walking.

Once young like me.

Now the degrees, the beauty, the strength, the validation, the rush of youth – none of that mattered now.

Only legacy did.

Only what lasted.

I wanted to ask her afterward what she desired at her current age… but hunger escorted me home.

It was Holy Communion day.

The prayers that morning felt like Hannah’s – lips moving, heart pouring.

A woman even lay flat at the altar in quiet supplication.

I whispered a prayer for her too.

After service, I joined the choir’s brief rehearsal… quietly, awkwardly, like a branch unsure if it still belonged to the tree it loved.

Still, they added me to their group chat.

And I didn’t run away

Now fast-forward to today.

I walked straight to sit with the choir, naturally, like I belonged.

And today’s message lingered with me more than I expected – “Who is this Jesus to you?”

I wrote it down and didn’t rush to answer because I realized I had never truly asked myself that question before.

But somewhere in the middle of the preaching, when the words softened and sank deeper than usual, I knew my answer.

I want to take Him as my Master – the One who leads, teaches, and steadies me, and also as my Friend, the one I can speak to with honesty, with simplicity, with a heart open like a window on a calm morning.

From now on, I want to call Him Friend deliberately and personally.

“If it’s a fragrance, then I’ll pour my oil. If it’s a life laid down, l’ll give my vow. If it’s a song I sing, then here is every melody. Because I move Him… we do.” (Move your heart –Lyrics)

During rehearsal after church, the leader said he couldn't hear my voice and I should sing louder.

So I tried.

My voice cracked at first.

My throat hurt. I cleared it, coughed lightly, tried again –

Until I became a little clearer.

He asked what tone I was singing in, I told him the truth: I didn’t know.

He laughed because I looked exactly like someone who didn’t know.

Then he gave me a tone and told me to stick to it.

I focused on the lyrics on my dim phone screen, singing until I heard myself clearly, until the barrier I’d always felt in my voice simply… lifted.

My voice stretched. It settled. It blended. It became clearer. Unafraid.

Unrestricted. Real. I felt it!

I am not perfect. Not even close.

I’m not even taking the mic next Sunday or anytime soon.

But I’m not stepping away either.

I'll just keep showing up.

Showing up is obedience.

Showing up is worship.

Showing up is training.

Showing up is transformation.

My voice will strengthen.

My confidence will increase.

My passion will deepen.

Because I've finally stopped running from the gift that has always been mine.

I stepped into a place I’ve always loved but never allowed myself to enter.

Not because I wasn't called, not because I wasn't gifted, but because I was afraid of the gap between what I feel and what I think I sound like.

But today? I walked toward it anyway.

Something cracked open today – not just in my voice, but in my spirit.

And then I understood a picture I’ve been staring at all week:

Jesus walking ahead carrying a cross and wearing a crown, leaving golden footprints, while a girl follows behind, carrying light.

I kept wondering what deeper meaning it could hold, other than literally …until today.

Now I know.

I am the girl. Melody is the path.

My voice is the light. And He is the One leading.

I wasn’t looking for inspiration for this entry.

I became it.

Go, Grace will meet you there.