by Jennifer Jill Schwirzer          

Anibel O’Connor loves to sing, beautifully and loudly. When she leads out in a church song service, no deadpan moans or silent sitting is allowed. Upon pains and penalty of being love bombed, she incites the congregation to blow their lungs out in song. But she should really require us to fasten our seatbelts, for some are in danger of levitating off the pews in a kind of musically induced ecstasy.          

Anibel’s husband, J.P., is also a singer. Trained on Broadway, he attended college on a vocal performance scholarship. It’s hard to believe, but J.P. sings even louder than Ani. When he first began as pastor at our church, the soundman had not adjusted the system for his voice, and it caused some mild eardrum trauma. I can only imagine what Anibel and J.P.’s arguments must be like.          

When J.P. met Ani, the two of them immediately began to blend their powerful voices into a dynamic music ministry. They married and began a life together. Not surprisingly, one of their two daughters was born with what seems to be a built-in public address system lodged permanently in her voice box.          

In a way, I pity the O’Connors’ neighbors. They probably don’t nap a lot. But while the O'Connors' voices break the sound barrier, they do it beautifully. So far, there have been no arrests for disturbing the peace.          

Anibel also loves to hug people. She and I have an understanding that although I am a non-huggy type, and she is a huggy type, we will find some kind of happy, semi-huggy medium. I tell her I am afraid of germs and body parts, and she laughs. That’s another feature of Ani’s personality. She loves to laugh—to be bright and positive and happy.          

Which is amazing, because Ani endured a tragedy in her young life that might have rendered her a sad, dark person. As a college student, she was traveling with a group in one of the school’s vans when it skidded off the road and tumbled down a 75-foot cliff. Her leg was nearly twisted off. Although they tried, the doctors couldn’t save it.  Gangrene had already set in and was spreading. The doctors said she would have been dead in six hours if they hadn’t taken her leg. Now she wears a prosthesis.          

I was with her in a church one day when a guest asked, “What happened to your leg?”                   

“I lost it,” she said, deadpan.          

The man seemed confused. It sounded as if she had misplaced it somewhere, so she offered an explanation: “In a car accident when I was a teenager!” She laughed and went on her merry way.          

What may have made it so hard for him to believe that her leg was truly gone was her total lack of self-pity or shyness about her situation. I asked her once if she was ever tempted to feel depressed about it.          

“When I knew they were going to amputate, I made a decision that I would make the best of my situation, and not let this difficulty ruin my life” she said, “I still have so much to be thankful for.”            

And that’s the way it is. The scripture says, “In everything, give thanks.” When we focus on the blessings we don’t have, we forget the blessings we do have. God allowed Ani’s leg to be taken, but He gave her a voice that more than makes up for it. More than that, He gave her Himself, the greatest gift of all.          

One day Ani seemed to be sharing with me another secret sorrow.          

“I got pregnant twice by my pastor,” she said, eyes downcast, no trace of a smile on her lips.          

“Ani!” I said, “I had no idea you had such a traumatic …”          

Just when I was at the point of empathetic tears, she laughed and said, “My pastor is J.P.!” She hugged me and walked away laughing.          

You should come to my church sometime and hear Ani sing. This is how it will be: Just as the pipe organ modulates into the last verse, her clear soprano voice pierces through the rest. When the organist hits the resolve chord and opens the organ until it pulsates, Ani’s voice ascends a note higher than seems possible, filling the sanctuary to its cathedral ceiling in a wall of glorious sound.          

It’s the sound of irrepressible praise.