Voices

My sister and I were riding exercise bikes one day at the local YMCA.  We were passing the time the way women do, by talking and laughing, when a man approached us and said, "excuse me, are you Cathy?"  Since I didn't know him from the man in the moon, I immediately went all "Jason Borne;" senses on high alert.  It turns out that I sat beside him in American History class in High School (1980) and he recognized my laugh.  How strange.  I don't suppose we think about it that often, but our voices really are a distinctive part of our identity

As an adopted child, I never had the experience of seeing my likeness in another living soul until I had children.  Although my daughter doesn't look like me, her voice is almost identical.  Even now, when either of us answer the phone, people will ask if they are speaking with Cathy or Claire.  A few years ago, I was able to find a telephone number for my birth-mother.  I scraped up all my courage and dialed the digits.  For the first time in my life, I was talking to the woman who gave me life-- and she sounded just like me.  It was so crazy!  She even had my hillbilly dialect.  (Maybe you didn't know that about me, but I speak with a distinct southern accent.  Not a cultured drawl like Melanie Wilkes from "Gone With The Wind," more like Grannie Clampett from "The Beverly Hillbillies.")  

There are so many voices that I miss.  Voices like my Mom's and my grandparents' that I long to hear again one day.  Most importantly, I know there's a voice my heart has been tuned to hear.  That's the voice of my Shepherd, the one who makes me to lie down in green pastures, leads me beside still waters, and restores my soul.  When I speak, I sure hope people will hear his likeness in my voice.