In the process of tidying up my hard drive — clearing out OneDrive duplicates and digital clutter — I stumbled upon a little memory gem from our Greater Auckland Chorus 2016 ‘Gotta Get Outta This Town’ concert. A snapshot of joy, vulnerability, and harmony that caught me off guard and stirred something deep within.

It’s funny how a single image or melody can become a doorway to the past.

Of all the things I’ve had to surrender in order to step fully into the calling God has placed on my life — into healing, into service, into purpose — I miss choir the most.

I miss the collective breath before a note. The way voices, so different on their own, blend into something sacred. I miss the camaraderie of rehearsals, the shared laughter over missed cues, and the unspoken bond that forms when people gather not just to sing, but to belong.

Back then, singing with the Greater Auckland Chorus was the very beginning of my journey back to life. My high-functioning depression was starting to show cracks, and for the first time in 22 years of marriage, Clive noticed. “Maybe you need a hobby?” he gently suggested. I found a post about GAC, and something in me said yes, even though I failed the audition five times before they let me in. I didn’t think I was good enough — but they welcomed me anyway. That simple yes became a turning point. I didn’t know it then, but God was already weaving restoration into my story.

Choir was more than singing. It was therapy. It was worship. It was the first step toward rediscovering a voice I had long buried beneath layers of shame and silence.

Letting it go wasn’t easy. But healing required margin. Rest. Obedience. Space to hear God's whisper in the quiet.

And yet... I still miss it.

I miss the ache of beauty shared. I miss being one small part of a greater sound.

So today, I honour that season. I don’t hold onto it with regret, but with gratitude. It helped carry me from despair to hope. From silence to song. And while God has shifted the melody of my life, the harmony lives on.

If you’re in a place of laying something down — something you loved — know this: Purpose often requires pruning. But the loss isn't the end. It’s the beginning of new growth, in unexpected directions.

“He gives beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness…” (Isaiah 61:3, NKJV)

🎶 What song from your past still stirs your soul?