Sunday Choir

How long have I been absent from my beloved blog? Two days? It felt like forever.

I was down with rhinorrhea and had to convene with my second-love Ratatouille-covered bed at an earlier time, and be detached from earthly thoughts to calm my being temporarily. I still am having it, but better.

I attended Mass last Sunday. The choir was singing, the congregation was humming, and I noticed two particular participants who made use of what they know and what they have to give glory to God. The younger man was deaf and mute, the mom was assisting him. But despite the absence of melodic vocals, both of them actively 'sung' through their wonderful hands, the young man patterning the mother's acts. It made me cry.

While some were physically present but psychologically traversing under the Sunday sunshine outside the four walls of the church, the mother and son's tandem echoed inaudibly, in chorus, with those who came for God. Nothing was more beautiful. It reminded me of the story of five loaves and two fishes that fed the five thousand. The little that we have is all that we really need. The absence of voices but the presence of their wonderful hands, and the support of their loved ones, are all that they actually need. All else are insignificant.