Beyond the Bathroom Floor: Nightbirde’s Legacy of Faith and Resilience

On a captivating evening, Night Bird graced the stage of America’s Got Talent, her presence as mysterious as the night itself. With an ethereal aura surrounding her, she stood before the judges, her appearance striking and enigmatic. As she began to sing, her voice carried a haunting beauty, captivating the entire audience.

Little did the judges know, hidden behind her stunning performance was a young girl battling a terminal illness, her love for God shining through every note she sang. With each lyric, she poured her heart and soul into her performance, leaving the judges spellbound. Moved by her courage and talent, one of the judges hit the golden buzzer, sending waves of joy and emotion through the crowd, unaware of the profound journey this young nightingale had endured.

Beyond the Bathroom Floor: Night Bird’s Legacy of Faith and Resilience

In the realm of Christian music, Night Bird’s ethereal voice once soared, touching the hearts of countless listeners with messages of faith and hope. But beyond the melodies lies a story of profound struggle and unwavering faith—a journey that led her to discover God’s presence even in the most unexpected of places.

Night Bird, born Sarah Johnson, faced more than her fair share of trials in her short life. Diagnosed with cancer multiple times before the age of thirty, she confronted the disease with a courage and grace that inspired all who knew her. Yet, it was in the depths of her darkest moments that Night Bird’s faith truly shone.

“I am God’s downstairs neighbour, banging on the ceiling with a broomstick,” Night Bird once said, reflecting on her intimate relationship with God. “I show up at His door every day, sometimes with songs, sometimes with curses.”

In the quiet solitude of her bathroom, Night Bird found solace amidst the chaos of her reality. It was here, amidst the pain and the panic, that she felt closest to God, pouring out her heart in prayer and finding comfort in His presence.

But Night Bird’s journey was not without its doubts and struggles. She wrestled with her faith, questioning why such hardship had befallen her. Yet, amidst the doubts and the despair, she found a glimmer of hope—a whisper of God’s presence in the midst of her pain.

“I have seen Him in rare form,” Night Bird once admitted. “I have felt His exhale, laid in His shadow, squinted to read the message He wrote for me in the grout: ‘I’m sad too.'”

Through her struggles, Night Bird learned to see God’s mercy in the most unexpected places—in the dusty sunlight that filtered through the window, in the warmth of her mother’s embrace, in the harmony of the wind chimes outside.

“Even on days when I’m not so sick, sometimes I go lay on the mat in the afternoon light to listen for Him,” Night Bird revealed. “I have heard it said that some people can’t see God because they won’t look low enough, and it’s true. If you can’t see Him, look lower. God is on the bathroom floor.”

Night Bird’s journey may have been cut short, but her legacy of faith and resilience lives on. Through her music and her testimony, she continues to inspire others to find faith in the midst of adversity, reminding them that even in their darkest moments, God is there, waiting to be found.

Though Night Bird may have passed from this world, her voice echoes on, a testament to the power of faith and the enduring grace of God. And though she may no longer sing on this earth, her melodies linger on, a reminder that even in death, there is hope, and even in darkness, there is light.

God is on the Bathroom Floor – By “Night Bird” her self

I don’t remember most of Autumn, because I lost my mind late in the summer and for a long time after that, I wasn’t in my body. I was a lightbulb buzzing somewhere far.

After the doctor told me I was dying, and after the man I married said he didn’t love me anymore, I chased a miracle in California and sixteen weeks later, I got it. The cancer was gone. But when my brain caught up with it all, something broke. I later found out that all the tragedy at once had caused a physical head trauma, and my brain was sending false signals of excruciating pain and panic.

I spent three months propped against the wall. On nights that I could not sleep, I laid in the tub like an insect, staring at my reflection in the shower knob. I vomited until I was hollow. I rolled up under my robe on the tile. The bathroom floor became my place to hide, where I could scream and be ugly; where I could sob and spit and eventually doze off, happy to be asleep, even with my head on the toilet.

I have had cancer three times now, and I have barely passed thirty. There are times when I wonder what I must have done to deserve such a story. I fear sometimes that when I die and meet with God, that He will say I disappointed Him, or offended Him, or failed Him. Maybe He’ll say I just never learned the lesson, or that I wasn’t grateful enough. But one thing I know for sure is this: He can never say that He did not know me. 

I am God’s downstairs neighbor, banging on the ceiling with a broomstick. I show up at His door every day. Sometimes with songs, sometimes with curses. Sometimes apologies, gifts, questions, demands. Sometimes I use my key under the mat to let myself in. Other times, I sulk outside until He opens the door to me Himself. 

I have called Him a cheat and a liar, and I meant it. I have told Him I wanted to die, and I meant it. Tears have become the only prayer I know. Prayers roll over my nostrils and drip down my forearms. They fall to the ground as I reach for Him. These are the prayers I repeat night and day; sunrise, sunset.

Call me bitter if you want to—that’s fair. Count me among the angry, the cynical, the offended, the hardened. But count me also among the friends of God. For I have seen Him in rare form. I have felt His exhale, laid in His shadow, squinted to read the message He wrote for me in the grout: “I’m sad too.” 

If an explanation would help, He would write me one—I know it. But maybe an explanation would only start an argument between us—and I don’t want to argue with God. I want to lay in a hammock with Him and trace the veins in His arms.

I remind myself that I’m praying to the God who let the Israelites stay lost for decades. They begged to arrive in the Promised Land, but instead He let them wander, answering prayers they didn’t pray. For forty years, their shoes didn’t wear out. Fire lit their path each night. Every morning, He sent them mercy-bread from heaven. 

I look hard for the answers to the prayers that I didn’t pray. I look for the mercy-bread that He promised to bake fresh for me each morning. The Israelites called it manna, which means “what is it?” 

That’s the same question I’m asking—again, and again. There’s mercy here somewhere—but what is it? What is it? What is it?

I see mercy in the dusty sunlight that outlines the trees, in my mother’s crooked hands, in the blanket my friend left for me, in the harmony of the wind chimes. It’s not the mercy that I asked for, but it is mercy nonetheless. And I learn a new prayer: thank you. It’s a prayer I don’t mean yet, but will repeat until I do.

Call me cursed, call me lost, call me scorned. But that’s not all. Call me chosen, blessed, sought-after. Call me the one who God whispers his secrets to. I am the one whose belly is filled with loaves of mercy that were hidden for me.

Even on days when I’m not so sick, sometimes I go lay on the mat in the afternoon light to listen for Him. I know it sounds crazy, and I can’t really explain it, but God is in there—even now. I have heard it said that some people can’t see God because they won’t look low enough, and it’s true.

If you can’t see him, look lower. God is on the bathroom floor.

Lyrics
I moved to California in the summer time
I changed my name thinking that it would change my mind
I thought that all my problems they would stay behind
I was a stick of dynamite and it was just a matter of time, yeah
Oh dang, oh my, now I can't hide
Said I knew myself but I guess I lied
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
I wrote a hundred pages but I burned them all
(Yeah, I burned them all)
I drove through yellow lights and don't look back at all
I don't look back at all
Yeah, you can call me reckless, I'm a cannonball (uh, I'm a cannonball)
Don't know why I take the tightrope and cry when I fall
Oh dang, oh my, now I can't hide
Said I knew what I wanted but I guess I lied
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
Oh-oh-oh-oh, it's alright
Oh-oh-oh-oh, it's alright
Oh-oh-oh-oh, it's alright
Oh-oh-oh-oh, it's alright
To be lost sometimes
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright
It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
If you're lost, we're all a little lost and it's alright