soothing rain

Today has been a strange day. Good day, but bizarre.

It began with a lot of confusion in 1 Corinthians that I believe has been at least somewhat resolved. Probably not fully, but enough to tide me over until I can get ahold of one or more of the theologians on campus.

Classes were pretty nondescript, except that all the literature that I've been reading for class involves sex and the general abuse of women. Not exactly the kind of stuff that I want to be thinking about at this particular point in my life. (It's already enough in my head...)

Choir did not follow this trend. The songs we are currently learning are beautiful--rich in musicality and lyrics alike. One of the songs in particular speaks particularly to my heart. It's called "Precious Lord," arranged by Arnold Sevier.

Precious Lord, take my hand; lead me on, let me stand.
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn.
Thro' the storm, thro' the night, lead me on to the light.
Take my hand, Lord, and lead me home.

When my way grows drear, precious Lord, linger near.
When my life is almost gone, at the river, Lord, I stand!
Guide my feet and hold my hand;
Take my hand, Lord, and lead me home.

A lot of choir directors give background stories to enrich the choir's performance--a mental visual that elicits an emotional response to push the song. Our choir director--who more than earned my respect and trust today--went this way and asked the rhetorical question, "What does a person have to go through to inspire such words?" He went on to say that it is when everything seems to turn to despair, when nothing is left but God, that this sort of conviction comes through.

Then he asked the choir if anyone had experienced something like that, prefacing it by saying we didn't have to share if we didn't want to. I very hesitantly raised my hand, and I felt like I was the only one who did. Bill looked at me and the details get a little vague, but I asked if I was supposed to share now that he addressed me...and I did. I told my choir that I'd been sexually abused as a child and that I hadn't realized it until years later.

Bill nodded and went on to say that something like that is indeed something that no one should ever have to endure, and that there were easily hundreds of people on campus who had gone through the same thing. Choir finished shortly thereafter and I didn't talk to anyone upon leaving. No one looked at me, and I left choir feeling like I had successfully managed to define myself as this "other."

Went to work, and later Bill came down to the bookstore. He talked with my manager for awhile, then asked to speak with me in private. I went out in the hall with him and he started by saying that I had been very courageous to share what I did in choir. I told him that I hadn't really thought about it, it just sort of came out. He said that he'd seen me think it over before speaking. And then, he added that other girls in the choir nodded along and that there are others who've gone through what I've gone through. I know that, and yet hearing it again somehow helps to know that I'm not alone.

He went on to affirm me, saying that I wasn't responsible that I hadn't done anything to deserve that. He also asked if I had dealt with it. I told him that I was going back into counseling and was currently looking for a good counselor. He gave me a referral and I know he's got my back. Even though it's a strange thing to have had happen today, in some way I'm glad. I feel somehow liberated in telling that.

Tonight I hung out with several good friends and we laughed and talked and watched a non-thinking movie. That's always a good way to destress. As I walked down to the dorms afterward, I felt very much at peace. Campus was empty, there was a full moon and a slight breeze. Everything was so calm. Then it started to rain softly, and there is something so refreshing, so symbolic and cleansing about rain--even when it's not a mad downpour. I feel like it's just one more love note God's passing me to get through this hard time. (And He's been giving me a lot.)