Tuesday, January 8, 2008

On Finding my Song and the Goth Momma

On Friday night, my mother and I set up the TV room for our hair dying ritual that occurs every time I come home for a break. We use the same plastic tarps and trash bags to cover all of the furniture and the floor. Then we burn this candle that smells like Boulder and melts into massage oil. We turn on a chick flick, this time it was "Mistress of Spices," a rather odd Bollywood movie that I am not sure if I liked or not. 

This time I picked up some natural hair dye from Vitamin Cottage. I have used the brand once before and enjoyed it. When it was time to rinse out the dye, both of us were a little nervous. Things looked a little darker then expected. Needless to say, I got a drastic hair change…and as for momma Muncy, well, things were a little out of control.

(Sound effect: Hair Dryer on High Setting)
Momma Muncy looks wide-eyed and mystified.
"Well, nearly black isn't too bad," I said. "I think it will wash out pretty fast. Should we call Jamie?" 
Momma Muncy stares blankly. 

Then we started laughing. Kind of a nervous laugh. And I felt really bad, because I had picked out the color. And my hair didn't turn out as dark as midnight like her hair did. 

I have been nervously laughing on a regular basis. I haven't quite known how to handle everything that has been happening, or how to give when running on empty. Honestly, I was kind of scared to face this week at home. I had a lot of time on my hands. Kind of a forced sorting through of the dark places I have been avoiding. 

I hate running on autopilot. I hate silence. 

But I heard something today. In an interview I did this past week for my senior project, a worship leader from Denver told me this simple statement:

Sometimes, God does not speak to us in the ways He always has. 

I have not known how to run back to the Healer of the broken. Stalled out, I haven't known how to pick up the shattered pieces. Or how to even feel. How could I not feel Him anymore? Especially when so many around me look to find Him in me. 

I think I have not wanted to be continually broken. I placed a time schedule on when I should be resilient again. Well, that train has not come in on time. 

Only God can teach me to trust again. Only God can really put a future together for me. But those words have been empty to me. Perhaps I need to learn to sing again, one note at a time. Slowly He will erase the nervous laughter. Slowly He will restore all of the broken pieces. 

I need You so much closer. Because I don't know how to just be myself again.

I am no longer afraid of the song that the broken sing. Because it is a song of hope and future redemption. When I feel left behind, shut out and unable to move, You meet me there. And You show me what it means to live again. Even when half of me was given away and then returned, mismatched and a little rough for the wear. 

Someday I will be absolutely strong again. And worth discovering.

For now, momma Muncy, I am proud of you, black hair and all. Just in time for Halloween. You are always beautiful to me.

No comments: