She would sing herself to sleep in the closet; and when she came out of the closet, she was not angry, bitter, hurt, or damaged in any way.  What a miracle!  The Lord had received this little girl's innocent praise and had rewarded it with a little abundant life of joy. 

In time, this little girl grew up to be an upstanding citizen in her community.  Although many said she would "never make it," she became a trailblazer for other black women, a prominent international speaker and author, and a wife, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother herself. 

It took many years before this girl understood the significance of singing in that closet at her grandmother's house.  It was not until she was grown up and married and had two children, and was verging on a nervous breakdown, that she remembered in the clearest way the peace and tranquility of singing in the closet.  She realized she had experienced calmness by singing church songs that quieted her down when she wanted to go on a rage.

So now, in her adulthood, the memory of the closet helped her realize that when she wanted to cry, she could instead resort to singing or humming or listening to a Christian music album.  She learned to do this as well when she held her babies or nursed her ailing, aging, great-grandmother.  Each time the music would play, negative attitudes would subside, and she would find herself in a more soothing spirit.  Listening to inspirational and gospel music became a habit for her, a ritual in her home.  And not only did it soothe her, but it would also calm her kids and lull to sleep her great-grandmother.

Discovering the therapeutic power of Christian music was not an instant revelation for her, but one that evolved over years of applying it during periods of hurt, disappointment, neglect, questionable hope, anger, disillusionment, lack of harmony, unkind deeds, financial difficulties, seemingly unanswered prayers, and disbelief.  In this way, these moments would become a time of spiritual growth.

Unanswered Questions

Are you wondering who this person is, who had such an unpromising start in life as the child of a cast-out, unwed teenage mother?

I'll tell you.

The only name on that baby girl's birth certificate was "Baby Girl Morris" (a fact that she didn't discover until decades later, after considerable investigation).  But the name she grew up with (and which was listed on her baptism and school records) was Thelma Louise Smith – until she married at age twenty and became Thelma Wells.

Yes, it's me!

That last name of "Morris" was apparently the attempt of my mysterious father, or somebody, to cover up my mother's sin.  When I started, as an adult, to seek more answers about my birth, my childhood, and my father, nobody was willing to discuss the situation.  My mother had the answers, but each time I asked her she would say, "You don't need to know about that," or "I'm not talking to you about that."  I was mature enough to understand even the worst situation, but I was denied access to my history and background.  It all went to the graves of my mother, father, and grandparents.