For The Daughter of The Melody and Light:

Someone brushed her arm with theirs, another’s strong cologne reached around her. She could feel people pressed close all around, yet her heart felt untouchable and her thoughts a million miles from any of these faces. She closed her eyes tight and tried again to offer all these thoughts up.

The night before she’d looked up at the stars, smiling and feeling wide open. Whatever this was in her heart, it couldn’t be shaken. She wished she could hear the stars. Standing at the car, head tilted back she’d become convinced that the constellations knew the song in her heart and if she could only listen to a star as it fell across the sky, she might be free. It would loose its hold on her. She’d be able to let go. She’d be known, and understood, a daughter of the melody and light.

A song could always make her cry, make her feel not alone, not an oddity. The right rifts could answer questions, for a moment. The music could always come so close to being right, but never really release her. Still, it was in the music she looked.

This morning she stood in the music, stood in the praise. And she begged herself to open to the King. She struggled within herself, all the while knowing the answer would have to come from outside. It would have to come from the King. She was postured to fight for it, her hands in fists, her eyes to heaven.

Just then the lyrics disappeared, and there was nothing for her to say. The instruments gave way and one sound rang out. The electric guitar let loose in the hands of a musician, the hands of a father creating the mystery in music that could loose the captive heart of one so small and hurting. She breathed deep. She let go. She didn’t even know the fullness of change, the melody of light flooding into her heart, her soul, her spirit. The song of the stars had escaped for a brief moment. She opened her eyes and with a smile said, “That’s my dad.”