Good Sabbath

 

"A little child, a shining star, a stable rude, the door ajar. Yet in that place, so crude, forlorn, the Hope of all the world was born."

THE ANGEL'S SONG
by Alice E. Workman <wng@accces.com>

Christmas, to me, has always been a celebration of one of the holiest events in the history of the world. My rejoicings on this occasion often take the form of music -- the language of the gods. One year, in
particular, brought me the realization of just how "near to the angels" the language of music really is.

I have always loved the song, O Holy Night, though my limited vocal range prevents me from being able to sing it either fully or well. So I did
not hesitate to say yes when a dear friend asked me to accompany her on the piano while she sang this song during our Sunday services.

Of course, no good ever comes to pass without opposition. The night before the performance, she became ill, and was so hoarse that she could hardly sing a note. I, too, was having difficulty; I had injured my arm and the pain made it difficult for me to play the familiar song. As we practiced, it became all too clear that without divine intervention, this was not going to work.

So we prayed. Oh, how we prayed! We prayed together vocally that night, and continued praying both aloud and in our hearts from the time we separated until the time came for us to perform. We knew that music posesses the power to uplift the soul, and to draw hearts nearer to God, and we knew that only God's power could enable us to perform. Through prayer, we expressed our faith that God could grant us this miracle.

When it came time for the performance, I thought, "Well, we've done all we could. We've practice and we've prayed, and now it is in God's hands." So, with the swellings of a prayer still in my heart, I began to play. In the beginning, I could hear that her voice was slightly clearer than it had been, but still strained. Then suddenly her voice changed. It became clearer, and richer in tone. It was so beautiful, and so different than I had ever heard her sing before, that it startled me, and I had to fight to keep my concentration.

As the song continued, my pain grew. Halfway through the song, my muscles rebelled and I missed playing several measures before I could
recover. I shook my head in frustration, thinking, "Here she is singing more beautifully than ever before, and I have to go and ruin it."

After the meeting, her husband approached me in the foyer. He commented on what a lovely performance it was, then asked me, "Why did you shake your head like that?"

"Why, because I couldn't keep playing -- I messed up."

"I didn't hear anything wrong," he said. No one had.

I marveled at this, and also that my friend had sang so well despite her illness. Why, I wondered, had she never sung like this before?

When I approached her about it, she tearfully (and in a voice that was, once again, hoarse) told me that she had never experienced anything like it in her life. "I felt like I was standing back watching someone else sing," she said.

God had granted our miracle, and infused us with the warmth of His love. I will always remember that feeling and stand as a witness that the angels, still, rejoice and sing of the birth of our Savior, as they did that night in Bethlehem, so many years ago.

Extracted from:

https://myfavoritechristmasstories.blogspot.com/2009/06/angels-song.html