I never truly sang until that Saturday.
Sitting in the Rynearson Auditorium in Nashville, listening to the gospel choirs sing their glory, I sat mesmerized.
All day long they sang, like angels dancing in the air.
My ankles grew tired from tapping my feet, and my hands were sore from clapping out the rhythm.
In my head, I heard the tunes, but was so afraid that my voice would betray the genius in my ears.
I felt a movement in my throat – strange but not uncomfortable.
It started vibrating up to my mouth, and when my lips parted, I screamed with wicked abandon.
The rollicking chorus had us up and dancing, and while I cried, my heart poured through song that came from my soul.
The release was outrageously overdue, and when we stepped outside into the warm, wilty night air, I was drenched with sweat and I felt powerful and strong.