When You Can’t Sing, Hum

Several months ago, my family went to war. Okay, maybe “war” is a little dramatic, but that’s what it felt like. Over the course of about three weeks, we went from being the happiest and healthiest we had been in a long time to fighting battles on every front. All five of us faced a crisis, hardship, or frustration of some sort. Sure, some were less difficult than others, but the sum total was enough to leave us hunkered down, begging for mercy.

I quickly found I could manage only bare essentials. Every ounce of my energy, both physical and emotional, went to my family. Nothing remained for things like casual conversations, reading for enjoyment, or even writing. Like a choirgirl with laryngitis, I had lost my voice.

Have you ever been in that spot? The place where it seems like, no matter which direction you turn, there’s another fire to put out? Something inside of you draws your focus inward and pools all your resources for the battles you must endure. You might feel like a hibernating bear, just surviving the winter, becoming unconscious to the rest of the world around you.

As time passed, we slowly fought our way out. Each day we put one foot in front of the other and made forward progress, no matter how slight. Bit by bit, the tension eased from our shoulders. The smiles came a little more easily and more often. We gained confidence that we would indeed prevail—and that we would be stronger for it.

Yet my metaphorical laryngitis remained. My mind and time were still too scattered to put pen to paper, so to speak. Writing, which had for so many years been my method of processing both the hard and the good in my life, failed me. The few moments I found to sit in front of a keyboard left me feeling empty as a blank screen stared back at me. My inner choirgirl panicked, afraid she would never sing again. Maybe it was time to shut down my blog, shut down my social media, and walk away.

Then one day I came across a box of my old piano music. Though I have played for over thirty years and even worked as a piano teacher for a while, the instrument had taken a backseat to other pursuits. I hadn’t touched it in years. But that box of old music ignited something in me. Maybe I wasn’t ready to compose words of my own just yet, but surely I could draw on someone else’s creativity to help me express what was churning inside.

I sat down and laid out a piece of sheet music, one that was easy without being childish. I took a deep breath. I put my hands on the keys. I dove in. It felt amazing. My fingers flew through the song. And then another. And another. My heart pounded as my spirit lifted. I hadn’t felt so awake and alive in months!

Over the next several weeks, the piano became my creative lifeline. Words still failed me when I pulled out my laptop, but my brain could process and my heart could express itself as my fingers moved nimbly across a different type of keyboard. My inner choirgirl still couldn’t sing, but she was humming. As long as she could make music, she was happy.

Times of struggle can leave us feeling drained and defeated. We can’t find enough energy or focus on what once brought us joy. But don’t give up. Find new ways—or old ways—to express yourself and seek happiness, no matter how small.

When you can’t run, walk. When you can’t walk, crawl. And when you can’t sing, hum.

Katy Epling is a writer, speaker, and “masterpiece in progress” (Ephesians 2:10) from Akron, Ohio. She and her husband Jon have three beautiful children who provide her with multitudes of material—both dramatic and comedic. Learn more about her heart and ministry at katyepling.com.

Photograph © Lorenzo Spoleti, used with permission