The Gift I’ll Give Again
The walls are faded white, crisp in their edges but scarred from the years. They carry the marks of time of hands that once touched them, of seasons that passed, and of stories that were never written down but still live in the air. The floors are deep, blood red, holding the weight of footsteps that have walked in with heavy hearts and left with lighter ones. The seats are cool to the touch, carved from dark, worn wood grain that has held the soul’s attention through quiet reflection and, at times, held a nap or two from the weary.
The ceiling stretches high to a peak, its open space both humbling and freeing. Stained colors dance across the room from the Son Light that filters through, painting shifting patterns that feel alive. The acoustics refuse to let a whisper stay private, yet somehow, they take every cry from the soul and lift it upward, as if the very air were carrying prayers home. This is where bonds are formed, where births are celebrated, where sins are washed away, and where prayers rise up for another day.
It’s where strength is found in weakness, hope is placed in the hands of the hopeless, and where there’s the quiet, anticipation of fried chicken after the reckoning. Joyful noises fill the air, voices rise high, and every falling veil is just another step toward getting us right. Peace here transcends understanding. Love lasts beyond time. Broken hearts are mended. The stern learn to bend. The sorrows and the pain, the joy and the fame all these confessions are carried here, and none of them are the same.
Walking slowly to the top, I draw in a deep breath. A note rises out of me, and I begin to sing, “He is awesome and worthy to be praised! For I once was dead, now I am raised.” From the bottom of these lungs, I’ll sing. “In me there is no doubt. He fought my demons. He is my sword. He is my Savior. He is my Lord. My God is Mighty.”
A day will come when I walk through the double doors, across the red carpet, and I will sing. Many will hear me, but that day my song will be for a little girl who will walk up front. I will ask her a question, the same question that was once asked of me. And when she is my age, maybe old and gray, she will remember that day. She will seek me out and ask if I remember. And just as it was for me, I will give her that date. I will remind her how special, how sweet that day was the day she asked me the question that led her to God above.
Dedicated to Brother Ed Bray This is a true story.
When I was little, Momma was paralyzed. I remember it like it was yesterday, walking to that big red brick building on the corner. “Just As I Am” started to play, and I was there on a mission. I walked up, trembling a bit, and I knelt down, hands together, fingers locked. Ed knelt down beside me, his hand on my back. “What are we going to pray?” he asked. I said, “Momma is sick. She needs fixed.” Ed said, “I know who we can call. Do you know Jesus?” I smiled and said, “I do!”
Brother Ed said, “Well, Jeannie, this is what we’ll do. We’ll go to Jesus and pray. We’ll ask Him to heal Ella Joy, and you know what? He’ll do it today. Do you believe He can do that?” I said, “Yes, I do.” He prayed the most beautiful prayer, and I felt it. I knew it was true.
I ran as fast as I could home to tell Momma what I did. Every time we iced her back, every time my sister took care of her, I knew she was healed. It wasn’t easy, but my Momma received a miracle that day. She went on to walk, to work, and to take care of me.
A few years back, I had hit a really hard time. I searched for Ed Bray and found him. I said, “Brother Bray, do you remember me?” He said, “Of course I do, Jeannie.” I said, “Do you remember that day?” He said, “I do. It was April 17th, 1972.” I almost couldn’t believe it. I said, “How do you know that?” He said, “I have your name written in my Bible.” He prayed with me, and once again, he changed my life.
And so, it will be one day, I will give that gift back to another little girl who will be just like me, looking for someone to be fixed.
I have been singing as far back as I can remember. Playing in the dirt in the backyard. Singing a song with made-up words as I walked to church a block away. I love music. And I love singing the blues, but one day, I will walk into a tiny church, and I will have the honor of kneeling down beside a sweet little girl that needs something fixed.
That is why I sing. Not for recognition. Not for money. Not for just me. I sing for hearts that hurt because my heart has hurt too. And you can go through the hardest times ever, and just to know someone else gets it can change your life, be it the blues or gospel. I will forever be a singer. And I will forever use this gift to bring peace and ease to whoever needs it and wants it. If you are ever struggling and you need lifted up, come to me and I will lift you up. If you don’t wanna talk about it then drop a note that says pray. And I will without question or hesitation and discreetly. I want to encourage you to find your gift and share it. There is life-changing power in that gift.