It seems I’ve found myself in a hole that has taken me six months (I know, I gasped too) to find my way out of. I could blame our move (a whole five miles down the road) or my busy-bodied children, but it was mostly writer’s block and laziness. My fingers tickled the keyboard here and there, but nothing that followed really held my interest long enough to finish. Last month, though, I got to say something I’ve been waiting a whole year to repeat to someone! And now my keyboard and I would like to share it with you.
We were all dressed in our black or grey shirts, dark pants and non-reflective/no-noise-making shoes waiting to be called onto stage. Our voices warmed from scales and arpeggios rung out in the loading dock turned green room, we were shooting the breeze until we would walk out into a giant arena to go worship Jesus with a bunch of people we didn’t know. I was ready to go. I was also really hungry.
A new acquaintance-friend/massage therapist/nose ring rocker, “Ritz”, and I were talking about the legalization of marijuana (this is what choir practice looks like in Austin, TX) with another member of the crew, when my stomach reminded me that I would make a terrible Girl Scout because I had neither eaten lunch before or remembered to bring anything but a half a bottle of water to a four hour gig. Even more hungry. My stomach gave off an audible alert of its needs and Ritz, hippie Girl Scout that she was, pulled out her only organic granola bar, put it in my hand and went right back to talking about weed and the farming restrictions that would have to be imposed because of how invasive a plant it is. (You really do learn something new every day)
I didn’t want to steal the girl’s food, so I did the “Thanks, but you don’t have to do that/I can’t take that from you/insert polite refusal phrase here”. Her response was so very wonderful and beautiful and uncontrived. It was etched into my hangry little brain right then and there.
“Be a Christian and share with me” <——-(this was the thing I got to say last month)
It was backwards. Kind of. Backwards in a world where sharing doesn’t come naturally. Backwards in a world where I want people to share with me, yet I guard my granola bars like a squirrel building a bomb bunker. She was reminding me that points don’t matter. She was reminding me to be a Christian. To share. To allow myself to be shared with–blessed–and to, thereby, be a blessing.
It wasn’t a thing. There was no big deal to be had. It was a flipping oatmeal stick in a room with Texas Longhorns orange carpet, but that should be my modus operandi! Ready to clean out my stash and give it all away at any moment. Not because I’m looking for status as a nice person or for anything in return, but just because it’s awesome. If you think that sounds dumb, go try it and get back to me. Let’s be nice to each other, shall we? Let’s share and allow ourselves to be shared with. It’s pretty nice.
…And, in the event that squirrels do become weaponized, we’ll have some happy Girl Scouts on our side.