Come thou fount of every blessing.

To listen to a room filled to the brim with sopranos, altos, tenors, bass and baritones singing a hymn in harmony is one reason of many why I believe in a higher being. Why I am spiritual. Why I say "yes" when others say "no". It explains my occasional sense of calm. It explains the occasional day of complete silence and even rarer days of a mind that is quiet but not asleep. I believe and I have not always been so brave to say so. I have questions, yes; not to mention a semi trailer worth its weight in doubt, but I believe.

It is in those moments- the singing room moments--standing there, so aware, so centered in a sense of self and a sense of family, so appreciative of culture, so thankful for the familial ties that bind, so humbled by song and collective voice--that it is impossible for me not to believe in something.

Lately, the amount of conversations based around the personal beliefs of the different people that make up my circle of friends have outnumbered our usual veins of banter: music, politics, food, wine, art, socialites, scenes, distaste for all the aforementioned points. In the last couple of weeks I have been pelted with questions of Why? and Where do we go? and When? and Who is the one appointed as Official yay or nay-sayer on our last days on earth? I have also been swept away by my own tears while in the throws of less malicious religious-based conversations. Humble tears, shared with humble people, humble pie. I am a world away from confidence in this, and I am a stones throw away from my old cynical self. But a pony on unsure legs is still a pony regardless of the wobble. I am still a pony. I am still myself.

Have no fear, all you steppers. I will not choke you with all of this in the future, I will not beat it over your heads while you sleep. I will not even wave it in front of you, as tempting as a waft of food; I will just exist knowing. I did not know before today. I had heard the wonders of, been encouraged, watched my friends who understood it and lived it in awe, even been drenched years ago with the waters that baptize and symbolically separate the lambs from the sheep; but I never knew this. I have no idea what exactly it is that I believe in; I do, but not really. All I know is that the knowing that comes from an accumulation of moments and memories and events and sorrow have become the building blocks of my personal faith over all of these years. Today it is personal; it is a friend, a confidante, a light of hope. It was not so yesterday or the years before that.

Today I had to make a decision. A quiet decision that had been stewing in the depths of my soul in the centre of my chest for months now. I have been conflicted for quite some time now, the joy in my youthful heart prematurely aging and sagging from the weight of such a choice. But this afternoon, in a moment of slicing, blinding clarity, I chose. I have known all along, but today that last block was slid into place and something clicked.

To Tante: the words you wrote for me on a piece of rough brown paper last February now stowed away in a secret place came to mind again today while mid conversation with Erin. I interrupted her to repeat them to myself, aloud, just to be sure I remembered them and she stopped short, her sentence jagged with words like "spirit" "vexation" "away" from my own mouth. Thank you for these simple papers blotted with wisdom that I find dappling the tables and drawer bottoms within my home.

The source of every desirable quality or commodity is a fount. I feel a fount of blessing and baby-legged knowledge.
Sincerely, Madge.