My four year old niece Tori was curled in my arms a few nights ago, her rhythmic breathing and contented presence a present in and of itself. Into our silence intruded a song, drifting in from the front room.
It was my six year old niece, Tessa, sitting on the couch, singing to no one in particular. Dressed in black leotards, hair up like the ballerina she’d been earlier that night, she joined the song she could hear through her headphones:
We lose our way
We get back up again
It’s never too far to get back up again
And one day you gonna shine again
You may be knocked down, but not out forever
We lose our way, we get back up again
So get up, get up, you gonna shine again
It’s never too late to get back up again
You may be knocked out, but not out forever…
There was her clear, confident voice, singing in the quiet of the house. What came over me was the realization that, though I could not hear the music directly, I still could hear it because my Tessa sang it to me. Over and over, she sang these words.
Get up, get up, you gonna shine again
You may be knocked down, but not out forever
I can hardly tell you what her singing did for me. It was like God singing to me. I had come to the house feeling in my own bubble of sadness, but then, unexpectedly, because she sang, hope broke through.
With a furrowed brow and heartfelt zeal, she sang me truth, though she did not know it at the time. I found myself taking heart that being down did not mean being out forever.
A friend sings you hope when you have forgotten the words.
Thank you, Tessa Grace. I really do love you to Outer Space.
