Some days there won’t be a song in your heart. Sing anyway. – Emory Austin
No one can argue that times are difficult right now. I don’t have to tell you how many jobs and lives have been lost due to COVID-19. I don’t have to remind you about the strangeness of social distancing, or the fact that summer vacations, or even weekend outings to the beach or zoo, are all on hold indefinitely. I don’t have to explain how it feels to be concerned for the health of a loved one whose age or health history makes them more vulnerable to the virus than you or I.
On top of the changes we’re experiencing right now, there’s also the uncertainty surrounding what’s to come. Will there be greater national solidarity and functionality, or worse polarization? Will homeschooling become the new norm? Will more jobs be done remotely? What about the virus? Will a vaccine be available soon? Will there be a treatment that doesn’t come with major risks? Is it possible to contract COVID-19 more than once? When will the quarantine period end, and will things ever feel “normal” again?
It’s easy to let such questions and anxious thoughts run rampant through our minds, but we mustn’t let them. While much of the media tries to convince us that there’s nothing but doom and gloom and reasons to fret, we have a choice to make: believe and repeat the dreary messages, or sing a new tune instead.
I was surfing through YouTube the other day when an episode of The 700 Club caught my eye. It featured the story of Jason David Sluyter, a young pastor and worship leader who, after being diagnosed with tongue cancer, was told he’d never sing or talk the same again. His doctor removed most of his tongue, and then reconstructed it using muscle from his arm. This all occurred after Jason’s 13-day hospital stay, during which half of his lymph nodes were removed, along with 20 percent of his tongue in an effort to eliminate his Stage 3 cancer for good.
After his operation, with mucous seeping out of his neck and blood dripping from his mouth, Jason lay on the bathroom floor and wept, wishing for death. It wasn’t long after that he googled the phrase, “Easy ways to die.” It was in that moment, when the horizon couldn’t possibly have been bleaker, that his wife Alyson began to sing a worship song.
“I was fighting, like, the worry,” said Alyson. “I was fighting the anxiety. I was fighting the fear …”
As Alyson sang, Jason felt an uncanny peace settle over him. “It’s like if peace was a person,” Jason said, “he entered that room in that moment, and I just began to drift off to sleep for the first time in three days. I woke up the next day, and I – I started telling myself – I’m not going to give up.”
You probably know how this story ends. Happily, to say the least. On Easter Sunday, Jason stood before the his church’s congregation and walked, spoke, and sang, all things his doctors were almost certain he’d never do again, at least not well, and definitely not for a long, long time.
A YouTube video of Jason singing a song he wrote titled “These Walls” has been viewed millions of times. He’s received countless messages and personal visits from people around the world who also battled, or are battling, tongue cancer. They, like Jason, are eager to write their own comeback stories.
After watching Jason’s segment, I couldn’t help but wonder, What would have happened if his wife hadn’t sang? What if she’d sat back and simply watched as despair swept over her husband? What if she’d succumbed to feelings of hopelessness and helplessness and accepted Jason’s wish to die?
When someone we care for is in the throes of hardship – inconsolable, depressed, afraid – we can feel paralyzed, unable to think clearly, let alone do or say anything that might provide solace. We see the churning darkness of their affliction and consider any amount of assistance or encouragement from us a tiny pinprick of light by comparison, a flash which vanishes as fast as it appeared.
Jason’s story is proof that such reasoning is flawed, for it fails to acknowledge the power that can infuse even the smallest acts of faith, and amplify even the softest whispers of hope.
Who in your life today could use a little singing to? Who can you text or call right now and shine a ray of light on? You may not know anyone battling Stage Four cancer, but we all know someone in quarantine, which is a legitimate challenge that may be tougher for some than others.
We mustn’t let an attitude of “well, there’s nothing I can do” rob of us opportunities to uplift, inspire, or simply listen, especially during this time of social distancing. As we love to say at 925, we are stronger together, even when we’re apart. Let’s not be afraid to test the truth of that statement, to speak life and exude joy where death and sadness threaten to infiltrate. Let’s not back away from situations about which we feel unqualified to help. Instead, let’s run eagerly into them, knowing that sometimes all it takes is a song of gladness to chase away the night.
“How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.”
― Anne Frank