On Numb Fingertips and Trying to Feel

So, I'm trying to learn to play the guitar.

I've always felt a powerful connection to the instrument, probably owing to the fact that it has saturated my environment since birth. My dad was a guitarist, my older brother a guitarist, my two younger brothers are guitarists (bass guitar being included, since it has 'guitar' in the name). Now my husband and his dad and all his brothers and one sister are guitarists, too. I'm starting to feel a little left out, you know?

But really, I'm trying to learn it because I want to be able to make music.

I have some lovely notions of not only singing and playing praises to my Master--but of being revived by the act of singing those praises. Ever since the miscarriage, there has rarely been a song in my heart. There's rarely been anything in my heart.

It's neither pleasant nor unpleasant to be numb; in fact, in terms of emotional pain, it feels a whole lot better not to feel anything at all. But my brain, and concerned family members, tell me that being numb is dangerous. It's more dangerous than being sad or angry, because I don't feel the discomfort that might make me do something about it. I'm content not to feel. And therein lies the threat.

So, the Still Small Voice suggests I try a little praise. I think it was in the movie Pollyanna that we all learned that if God takes the trouble to say something over and over again, He must have meant it. Singing praises, playing instruments, dancing for joy, making melodies with our hearts...the list goes on and on. And on. And on some more.

And then, at this very moment, I happen to be sitting near an open window. I can hear at least four different types of birds singing, and I know Who it is they sing for. They're just birds and have nothing, but He cares about them. I wish I could join in, but I don't know the words.

I guess we all have our own songs. Birds and whales and frogs and crickets don't play the kind of music we can play or sing, and they can't play each other's music, either. I would really like to know what they're saying. I think that someday, I will. And someday, maybe we'll all sing together, and find out that we make a great orchestra, singing in all our many languages.

So, my intent is to learn to make music, of the human variety. Right now, it isn't very fun at all. I'm not "instantly good" at this, and throughout my life, I've tended to be too much of a perfectionist to waste my time on things I wasn't good at right away (Hence, I never learned guitar, and I can't ski, crochet, or play most sports). I'm trying to conquer my own brain and continue to practice even though it seems kind of futile. My hands are weak, and small, and not stretchy, and my fingers move slowly. At least they don't hurt anymore, like they did the first few times. They're numb. That's one thing that has spurred me on. Maybe by letting my fingers go numb, my heart will stop being so?

As I end this post, I have a lot. I have numb fingertips on my right hand. I have no idea if the feeling will ever come back. I have Dave's fat book of hymns to practice with, although I have to skip all the ones with "B" and "F" because I don't know those chords yet. I have some lovely birds trilling and warbling outside in words I don't yet understand. I have some perfectionist tendencies to try to get over. And, I have some hope, because even though I don't really have a whole song in my heart, I have at least a few chords.

Ready...I guess

There. I've done it. I've started a blog.

I've started this blog not because I think I am all-wise and all-knowing, and therefore have A Message For the World. I started it partly because on occasion, I have something to say. But, I don't want to be pushy, and I'm terrible at face-to-face communication. So if someone voluntarily reads this, they can't rightly accuse me of pushiness. I mean, they CAN accuse me of it, just not RIGHTLY. And, since it's writing, I don't have to worry about being tongue-tied. I can untangle my tongue when I go back through and edit. How I wish we could edit face-to-face conversations. The most wealthy man in the world would be the man who could hit the 'delete' button on something he shouldn't have said.

Another reason I'm writing this blog to help me learn. I've kept a prayer journal for years, and have come to notice a definite trend in my thought patterns. Namely, until I write something down, I don't have a thought pattern. Suppose someone I cared about said or did something that upset me. I would more than likely put it out of my mind in a few days, and then forget about it. Then, a few days later, I'd find myself anxious or worried or irritable, but most of all, confused, because I couldn't figure out why I felt anxious, worried, etc. So I'd pull out my prayer journal and inform the Lord of my mental state, just to make sure that He realized I couldn't figure it out. I mean, He might have overestimated my emotional-sorting-capabilities. Or perhaps He had not been paying attention to me the last few days. Really letting things slip, you know.

For some reason, when I'm all confused like that, I start thinking that God must be confused, too. Which just offers further evidence that I'm really, genuinely, and utterly confused.

So I'd begin writing to the Lord, and as I did so, the putting-of-thoughts-to-paper would begin to solidify things. Written words have the benefit of being solid. Scripted sentences are solid. Suddenly what kept floating around in my brain like a gaseous and almost entirely senseless cloud had been transformed into something real and definitive, and my brain had one less cloud in it. One cloud at a time was turned into a solid, filling several pages of my journal, and then at some point, all the clouds were written down, and I could look down at the pages and see the substance, the real dramedy that had been going on in my head. Suddenly I "got" what my problem was, and what's more, it was no longer in control. Like that country song that I couldn't get enough of when it came out, "It's no longer inside of me, threatening the life it belongs to."

Writing helps me sort out other things, too. If I try to write down a description of a beautiful sunset, it turns into an observation on the beauty awaiting us in Heaven--something I hadn't neccessarily been thinking of until I started writing. Something that I hadn't even thought of before, perhaps, but something that I always would from that point on. Hence, when I write, I learn. I grow. I discover.

This is a season in my life when I'd like to be growing more. God's been whispering to me a lot lately. That is, if He says anything at all (this has also been a season of Heavenly silence, of the deafening variety). I have a theory. No--not really a theory, because this theory does have a certain amount of experiential evidence backing it up, in the form of "this happened last time, and the time before that." I guess this is more of a hypothesis. I have a hypothesis that if I obey the whispers I'm hearing now, I'll be able to hear more whispers as I need them. Taking one step in the direction of the one little bit of light I've been granted will, I hope, lead on to another little bit of light. God has whispered about blogging to me, and how He meant me to write for Him.

I've tried telling Him, over and over, that He's being unreasonable. I mean, I've queried for my novel multiple times, and surely being a published novelist would be the best way for me to be His writer. And everyone and their mom has a blog these days, so it's really an oversaturated market. Basically, I think this is a bad, nonsensical idea. But He seems to disagree. He seems to think I should blog, and let Him worry about what way is best in this grand tapestry He's weaving. So, with only a whisper, and not much else, I begin.

I don't know what direction this little scheme will end up taking. I don't have any light for anything beyond getting this thing up and running, and that light is about to run out as I wrap up this first post.

So, there you go, Abba. I'm not sure where You're going with this--but that's why I titled it ready when You are. Because You're ready, so I guess I am, too.