As early as I can remember, I was lifting my voice to the heavens.
I easily recall myself as a round-faced little girl rocking to and fro with Mama each Sunday at mass boldly singing our prayers and songs from the Catholic hymnals. In my memories, I can see my younger brother and I looking up at Mama singing virtuously in church, our eyes filled with wonder and adoration as they peered through our whispy, toe-headed bangs. With Mama’s prompting, we’d lift our dimpled chins and pint-sized voices high up toward the rafters, joining the other parishioners in song.
My mother’s voice was pure joy to me. She always sang out confident and proud, and I learned to do the same. I felt significance and belonging when I sang in church with Mama. And, as I grew, no matter where I was, singing always made me feel like I was home.
