June 2009

Healing Words

       I grew up in a type of Christianity that believed in "finding God's will for your life".  This could be quite difficult to do as God's will wasn't always evident and easy to discern.  It involved a lot of praying, reading my Bible, going up to the altar, and being scared of being sent somewhere as a missionary.  Most of the time, I just did my best to get along with my life.  Things happened and life happened.  Somewhere in there, I realized God's will wasn't something I had to find, it was something I already had inside and needed to follow.

      Poetry writing was originally an avenue of expression of my eleven year old truth, emotions, and otherwise confusion.  It was a way to speak out what my heart needed to say.  As I look back on it, poetry writing really hasn't changed all that much for me.  It's still a way to speak out what my heart needs to say, exercise for my soul if you will.  My skill level has developed a great deal but it is still how my soul breathes.  

      I've written two books of poetry with a third in the works.  Working on the next book, I've thought a lot about what that is like, what it requires of me, and how much I love to do it.  However, I've been hesitant to do write it, and not only because I have so many other projects on my plate at the same time.  I remember well what it takes of me to write a book.  I've always really appreciated the honesty and real struggle in other author's books, but it always a lot easier to read such books than write them.  Thinking about this, I wrote the following story:

 

The Healer

 

I had forgotten I even took the quiz, "What was your profession in a past life?" on facebook while I worked on other screens. Then as I happened to click back onto it, there was the result in plain language. The answer to my questions of what am I here for, what is the true beat of my heart in this seemingly crazy life?

"HEALER"

That word knocked me off my feet and I sat there stunned. It made sense- the spiritual direction, the writing, the speaking, it all works together under that one word: "healer". I feel like I've set my healing tools in a trunk in a dusty upstairs attic and closed the lid for awhile. That maybe I was, in some deep unconscious place, even running from the role because I feel scared of the power there inside me and inadequate way deep down, deeper than I will even admit to myself. But there it is. God called it. He's kneeling by the trunk, opening the lid, and excitedly exploring inside. Occasionally, he gets really happy about one tool in particular and shows it to me (who is sitting a couple of feet away trying not to show how interested I am). He's throwing around what I had so carefully packed away in my soul and showing me how much I need these things, how much putting those tools away handicapped my own heart. Then you have several other people who join him at the trunk shouting, "Hey, I remember this! Why don't you use it anymore?" giving me questioning looks as they lift up and dust off one tool after another. They hold the tools with loving hands. Excitement is in the room, shouts are shared, joy is present as they rediscover what I've tried to forget. Then there is a moment of awed silence as God lifts out of the trunk a beautiful violin and bow. They all look at it with wonder in their eyes as one man bends down and cradles it in his hands, tears running down his face. I think he cries for the memory of the music and for the artist who won't play it anymore. He turns and silently stands before me, holding out the instrument, waiting and hoping. My soul cries out to take the bow in my hand yet I'm scared of where the music will take me if I play once again. I'm scared of what people will hear. He won't stop looking at me, none of them will, and God is right there with them looking me straight in the eyes calling me to be the musician of souls that I am. Sobbing as I look at him, I wonder what choice is there? I am terrified to play the notes within myself and at the same time, don't understand what I'm terrified of. I long to take the violin in my hands but don't understand why it feels like the very heart of me, why I am incomplete without it. My shaking arms, at last, reach out to the violin as a drowning swimmer gasping for air. I connect with the wood, feel it reverberate beneath my hands. I know every turn of the grain. Trembling, I lift the violin to my shoulder and hold the bow above the strings. I can do nothing but play for I am quite sure now that though it may cost me my life, life is held no where else for me. Before I release the first notes into the air, I look above the bow at all the expectant faces before me and I see God's smiling face at the center of them all. The violin is reflected in his tears. I am the healer.
 

So many movies have the line, "It is your destiny."  Though I think this can be hogwash at times, there are other times, it can be quite true.  I feel that writing is my destiny, it is God's will for my life.  But it wasn't just His choice, it was mine too.  We made it together.  I love to write as much as exploring those deeper places scares me at times.  But as I sense that trepidation, I hear your voices, all of you who are reading this, who have told me that it was the harder stuff I wrote that meant the most to you.  It is the thoughts, feelings, and struggles I gave voice to that helped you find a voice of your own.  It's the tough stuff that helps you, that gives you joy along with the fun.  What a good lesson for us all to learn and remember once again.  It's that classic choice between fear and love all over again and in the end, I choose love: love of writing, love of myself, love of you, and love of God.  And part of that love, is through my words.  Hopefully, prayerfully, they will be creative, truth-filled, healing words.