At the beginning of spring last year, I went for a walk one morning. It was a clear day, and the park was alive with people who, like me, were enjoying the sights, sounds, and fragrances of nature. Often when I am walking, the words to the sacred song “How Great Thou Art” come to thought: “O Lord my God! / When I in awesome wonder, / Consider all the worlds Thy hands have made” (Carl Boberg). And they came to me that day as well, as I strolled the circumference of the park.
Once back at home I noticed I was beginning to experience discomfort in my sinuses. In the past, I’ve experienced this allergy-type condition—especially in the spring and summer—which could end up lasting for weeks with accompanying cough and sore throat. As a professional singer (including debuting as a soloist at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York City), the quality of my voice is always a top priority. I became concerned because I had upcoming performances in a few days in a children’s show of Hansel and Gretel—singing the part of Gretel, in high, soaring notes over an orchestra. I didn’t have the luxury of time to wait for this condition to run its course.
I found myself focused on the material lie—not on the spiritual truth. I was mesmerized by the thought of time and limitation, instead of accepting the realization of a sustaining, infinite God, who knows nothing about illness, no matter what the name.
It was difficult to focus on the fact that I am already perfect as God’s reflection, and that I needn’t be afraid of what seemed to be inflamed matter. As the coughing continued, I realized I wasn’t practicing, or even talking—and at that point I knew I needed support.
While talking to the Christian Science practitioner, I noticed that my speaking voice had become husky-sounding. I informed him about my upcoming engagement, and that I was scheduled to sing six performances in three days, preceded by two days of major rehearsals.
Lovingly he assured me I didn’t need to worry about the nothingness of human belief, and that instead I could focus on God’s beautiful harmony, always at work. I then remembered Mary Baker Eddy’s statement in Science and Health: “What an abuse of natural beauty to say that a rose, the smile of God, can produce suffering! The joy of its presence, its beauty and fragrance, should uplift the thought, and dissuade any sense of fear or fever. It is profane to fancy that the perfume of clover and the breath of new-mown hay can cause glandular inflammation, sneezing, and nasal pangs” (p. 175).
What this passage said to me was that I had gone for a beautiful walk in the blooming spring park, tremendously enjoying the surrounding sights and aromas, and that there was no possibility that any “smile of God”—no matter how it was presented—could be harmful to His creation, including me.
One important citation in the Bible Lesson that week read: “God is everywhere, and nothing apart from Him is present or has power” (Science and Health, p. 473). I understood that to mean that the trees and flowers had no power apart from God. I treasured this thought—that God saw all that He had made, and it was good. Therefore everything must exist in harmony and complement everything else.
I cherished this thought of harmonious existence. I embraced it with gratitude, loving the leaves, tree trunks, the birds, cats, dogs, squirrels, wind, etc. In two days the symptoms subsided, and my voice returned to normal. My rehearsals were fun and the performances, exciting.
This experience made clear to me that I am one with God in His universe of good, of beauty, of unity. I can reflect and express only God’s voice, and Her beautiful voice can never be silenced by anything She has created.
Riverdale, New York, US
