So, it’s been a little while.
I let myself forget myself these past weeks, so I could just enjoy being.
But I still felt empty.
Because, being me involves so much. But it’s simple really.
And when you read the thoughts you’ve been thinking in someone else’s book, your hearnuts explode and you just can’t even.
You just. Can’t. Even.
Sister Sara, I heard me all over your book.
This morning, as I came down from the high of being with my son, which is always a high and never disappoints, I could feel the impending emptiness that’s always lurking in the shadows of the day, waiting to pounce on my trampled heartnuts. (Heartnuts, another quirky phrase I’ve adopted, meaning ‘the nuts of my heart,’ or the sensitive part of the heart, where you feel most deeply.) So, as I prayed over my son before I put him to bed, I gave up. I surrendered. I said, “I’m here. I’m just here. Show me how to BEW again.”
And God said, “Go to your piano.”
And this time, I didn’t doubt or question. I just did it.
And all the sounds that once used to love me like a mother, that cradled my soul by way of my ears, they came right back out my fingertips and through the keys, dusty and so badly out of tune, and my voice rose to meet them in the air, and I was free.
I don’t know what it will ever be. And that’s just fine.
I’m here. I’m just here. Show me how to BEW again.
“Once Upon Another Time”