Unspoken Sorrow has a cover!

It’s not the final version, but I am deeply in love with the title font, and how I now look like a bona fide author. An earlier version appears at the end of the post. There’s a lovely e.e. cummings-ness about having my name printed in all small letters. If you don’t know anything about cummings, check him out. One of my favorite quotes belongs to him: “To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else – means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.” Beautiful, no?

When I was preparing for a weekend retreat last fall, I was forced against my will to learn a Very Tricky Song. It was the leader’s chosen song, and it’s not created for either piano or for worship. It’s a song like the old story telling songs from the seventies. How serendipitous that it’s titled Storyteller.

In her commentary about how she wrote the lyrics to the song, Morgan Harper Nichols says, “Everyone has a story… I believe the moment that we start to talk about those different mountains that we’ve had to climb in our lives and we start to talk about the different valleys that we’ve had to tread through and we start talking about the different things that God has done in our lives… is the moment that we become storytellers.”

Learning a song well enough to lead others through it means that it plants itself in your soul. I listened to Storyteller on repeat for two weeks! The lyrics resonate with me, and ultimately I wrote the most difficult pieces of Unspoken Sorrow while listening to this song.

On a Sunday evening I’m looking back
Over all the years and where I’ve been
Looking at old photographs I’m remembering
You were right there and You have been ever since
With every page that turns, I see Your faithfulness

There were some nights that felt like they would last forever
But You kept me breathing; You were with me right then
And all that You have done for me,,, I could never hold it in
So here’s to me telling this story over and over again

Oh! The mountain where I climbed
The valley where I fell
You were there all along! That’s the story I’ll tell
You brought the pieces together
Make me this storyteller
Now I know it is well; it is well
That’s the story I’ll tell!

Speaking from experience, the majority of my story was born in the valleys, one of which weaves its way through the events of April 10, 1997. This is a story worthy of being told, and I tell it in recognition of the loss of three nine-year olds and the loss of a certain innocence in the lives of ten children under my care that very dark day.

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