I see it in their eyes, the fast deflate.
They had just pried opened their ribs and shown their blood-pulsing hearts to a primetime audience of millions…and they were not picked.
And it is here that a decision will be made. They will keep perfecting their craft, keep singing for their life, or let discouragement drown their dream.
And I think, don’t give up…for the love…don’t give up.
Maddie and I, we curl up on the futon and watch the Voice with its hints of greatness, contestants struggling to emerge and fly. And I wonder how many who weren’t quite ripe, who weren’t quite ready, will crumble and say that they tried but weren’t quite good enough for the stage. They give up and decide the fight isn’t worth it anymore.
But the truth is that they were So. Very. Close. A year or two more of perfecting their craft, a pushing through and a little more experience and they could have brought a shining gift of beauty to the world. It’s not that they didn’t have the talent, it’s just that they needed a bit more time gestating.
And I want to whisper into their hearts, “Don’t give up…for the love…don’t give up.”
What about you, dear one? Do you hear that same hiss, the one that whispers, “You are not enough, give up before you waste an afternoon, a year, a life?”
It’s a lie, that one, a lie that causes talents to be buried six feet under when they could at least be earning interest out in the open air.
It’s a lie that causes hearts to be buried under layers of fear. But do you know a secret? They don’t lie quiet down there. They whisper and sing and beg for the open air, and for the love, please dig them up and let them rise.
Keep pushing that candle into the darkness, whatever your love-fueled art might be.
Keep working on your craft.
Keep praying and listening and kneading and bringing goodness to the table.
Keep serving the world with your heart open wide.
Keep whispering truth into tiny ears.
Keep sitting down on the bench in front of those black and white keys.
Keep clicking the shutter, pushing “publish,” swirling colors.
Keep writing and listening to the music of the words marching down the page.
And keep flinging seeds…because when the time is ripe, a harvest will emerge.
For the love,
don’t give up.
(photo found here.)
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