My Ink Dance

Discovering Extraordinary Grace in an Ordinary Life

I Lost My Voice

I don’t know how it happened, but I lost my voice. Somewhere in the piles of laundry and tubs of toys, the dirty dishes and the scraped knees I stopped speaking.

When you don’t use a muscle for long enough you lose it.

photo credit: nuit-noir.tumblr.com

photo credit: nuit-noir.tumblr.com

But the first step is realizing it’s lost.

Don’t worry, everyone can hear me just fine. In fact, too often, they hear me harsh and loud, ringing in their ears, in their faces. But is that really me? It sure isn’t the me I used to be.

I can go back and uncover that person, that voice. I can take a moment or an hour or a day and go back through pages of yesterday searching for who I used to be. The sound of her voice echoing through my memories like the theme song you can’t remember the words to.

But even if I find the words, that voice is no longer me.

See, these piles of laundry and tubs of toys, the dishes and the bleeding knees, they’ve changed me. And maybe it’s not about finding what I was, but discovering what I am.

27.media.tumblr.com

27.media.tumblr.com

That change isn’t bad. In fact, it’s right on track with a blueprint I can’t see. It’s written in invisible ink and I can only see the little spot my flashlight shines on. But He can see the whole thing.

It’s the corner of the puzzle right in front of me. These pieces with familiar edges and unknown shape trying to work together to be something, anything. He knows where every piece fits and when it will be complete.

But that’s not my job. My job is to discover. My job is to take the little section I’m given right now, in this moment and work on that section. To really work, to twist and turn in question and uncertainty and to cheer when finally after writhing for days, weeks, years, the piece fits perfectly with another and I see a bit more.

So I’m here, twisting and turning. I’m getting it wrong and I’m getting it right. I’m trying and crying. But I am here.

A voice can’t be found unless you use it.

This is me, using my voice.

About Becky Hastings

I am emotional and logical. I am strong and dependent. I am a juxtaposition of head and heart exploring it all through writing. And in all my mixed-up ways I am loved. I'm here to tell you that you are, too. Just the way you are.

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