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.

365-09 #124