If the thought that Kath’s emotional burden might be eased by the song in the same way mine had been wasn’t truly my own, whose was it?  Who, exactly, might have been talking to me?

Years later, it occurred to me that possibly it was her dad.  I wasn’t a stranger to him, and he liked my music.  What father wouldn’t want to ease his daughter’s pain, if there was a viable way at hand?

But as I considered this possibility more, I realized the timing would have been off.  Kath’s dad was still alive at the time I wrestled with whether or not to sing the song to her.

I suppose it’s possible that since he was near death, he may have entered into a transitional state in which lots of people talk about seeing their deceased loved ones.  But there’s another potential explanation that seems a lot simpler to me:

The lyrics of the song I had sung were directly addressed to God himself.  Somebody was crying out to him, so he answered.

I have to admit, I find this possibility a bit overwhelming.  Had the great and immortal ultimate power of the cosmos actually taken the time to speak words of comfort and healing to insignificant little me?

I know there are lots of people who believe they’ve had this experience—if not with God himself, then with his son.  They’ve prayed, and they’ve found their prayers answered—simple as that.  But personally, I favor an explanation that’s a bit less awesome in its scale.

When I sang a song asking God to hear me, any number of souls—bits of the larger God entity, yet capable of functioning independently—were out there and able to respond.  All it would have taken is for one of them to provide the essence of what I was asking for, in the form of healing guidance.  

I find the possibility that a network of beings whom I had never met was out there, listening to me and happy to help, no less miraculous or deeply touching than the topmost Almighty Being arriving in a fanfare of celestial trumpets.