Stop trying so hard. Just let go and breathe.
I scribbled the statements in my journal, knowing I needed to read them over and over. It's hard to accept those words sometimes–I knew it all too well. In this fast-paced society, all everyone is forced to do is take another step toward what is expected of them.
My mind raced back to all the times I pushed myself to the limit when every coach and teacher told me I would never make it unless I worked harder.
Those degrading, hard-to-forget moments when I was told that I wouldn’t become anything, simply because I wasn’t able to do it as perfectly as everyone else. I was always just that girl with a wild dream and a heart full of songs. Songs that spoke of vision and purpose, but never met with the expectations of what everyone else called “reality.”
“It’s just not a realistic goal,” teacher after teacher would explain to me. “If you want to be in the music industry, then become a music teacher or professor.”
But that wasn’t where my heart was. And it took me a handful of years to finally admit that I didn’t want what everyone else wanted for me.
Remember … I'm not the only one.
Again, another difficult truth I had a hard time embracing. But I knew it was true. No matter how happy, successful, or fulfilled people appeared–they were battling the same things I was. They fought to take that next step forward.
I thought of all my friends, who came and went. Each of them chased a career or goal that wasn’t theirs to chase. I watched the fire inside them fade with each passing year, despite the smiles they showed in their group photos or selfies.
“Richy,” I told one of my friends a year or two back. I watched the way he walked the sidewalk, his head held high–the image of professionalism all over him. He smiled, talked calmly, and always spoke of his success. But nothing more and nothing less. That little boy I knew who dreamed of exploring the stars in space ended up being a CFO for a restaurant franchise.
“Yeah, Millie?” He winked at me and grinned. “What’s on your mind?”
“Are you …” I swallowed hard. “Happy?”
His smile froze, while his brown eyes clouded. I watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he muttered with a sudden frown, “Obviously.”
Richy and I never spoke again after that day. But I watched him from afar, giving his heart into girls or money, neither of them helping him the way that I knew he needed. And that’s when I realized, I wasn’t the only one battling the mental war between what I wanted vs. what was reality.
Don't go backward, only move upward.
I glanced heavenward, the afternoon sun peeking through the clouds. I wasted too much time in regret. It was just that one area that I never could touch, fix, or change. The one place where I had no choice but to either stay or move on.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to your dad before you leave?” Mom begged, all those years ago.
“No, Mom, I told you we weren’t on good terms,” I replied, half-rolling my eyes. It was just minutes before I was to leave for college and my dad and I had a huge fight the week before. One that I highly doubted would get fixed over one conversation.
“But, honey, I know he wants to see you off.”
“It’s not like I won’t visit.”
“Millie–”
“Mom, please, this is my moment.” I touched her arm. “Let me have it.”
Mom sighed and I watched a heaviness rest on her little shoulders. One that I would never be able to lift–because I never kept my word. And I never had that chance to see my dad again. Every day, I wished I could take back that moment. I prayed to God to take me back in time to just talk to my dad, work it out, give him a hug, and say “I love you.”
Because I knew he loved me, I just hoped he knew I loved him back.
It's time to move on.
My hand trembled as I wrote the statement. I paused for a second and gazed at the street in front of me. I was sitting on the hood of my Honda, which was parked on the side of the two-lane road. Right in front of me was a sign that read Welcome to Tennessee. I was just a few feet away from crossing over the familiar place I called home … and straight into the unknown.
A gust of wind whipped back my blonde hair, the scent of pine and oak trees floating in the air. Yellow, orange, and red leaves flew by, dancing in the wind in perfect coordination. I tucked in my deep red scarf, instantly thinking of my mom. We both knit it together–an annual fall project we always did. But once we finished that scarf, she wrapped it tightly around my neck, and said tearfully, “You have a lot to give, Millie.” She rested her hand on my shoulder. “So go and give it.”
The memory was sweet, tender, and close to my heart. I half whimpered, feeling a rush of emotions flow through me. Mom believed in me, she always did. And if I wanted to call her that second just to cry, she would let me–even if I was a twenty-eight-year-old daughter who made mistakes. Mom knew it was time for me to move on. But more than that, she knew it was time for me to … make a difference. And there I was, at the borderline of Tennessee, where a record deal and music team waited for me and my guitar. A whole new adventure, a whole new world–all for me to give what I have. But I felt anything but worthy or ready to do that.
“Oh, Lord …” I laid flat on the hood of my car, staring up at the fluffy clouds. “What if this is a mistake? Like everything else?”
I sighed heavily, wishing that God's answers came in quick and obvious signs. Yet I knew it rarely worked like that. And even if it did, it would defeat the whole purpose of trusting God. But I wanted to trust Him with everything in me-I really did.
I watched some cars drive by, passing that Welcome to Tennessee sign without the slightest hesitation. They all knew where they were going and where they would end up. Me? Well, I had an idea of where this road would take me. The problem was, I didn't know what type of road it would be. Would this music journey be windy and narrow? Will there be cracks, bumps, and cliffs, all waiting to catch me in my vulnerability? Would I end up rock bottom–again–and barely make it out? I didn't know. I pressed my pen against the page and continued writing.
You have a lot to give, go and give it.
I slapped my journal shut, slid off the hood, and hopped behind the wheel. My hand hovered over the car keys, as I stared at that Welcome to Tennessee sign. There were scars in my story, ones so deep I hardly knew what to do with them. Every day, I wished they could heal simply by writing them away with the lyrics of a song or the note of my guitar. But my God called me to a path so much greater. He was with me through every painful and regretful moment, there to save and redeem me. And now, I had a voice to share, a story to give. One that might just lift someone else’s head toward Heaven, and reach for Him like never before.
“I have a lot to give,” I stated while turning on my car. “So, I’m going to go and give it.” Rolling down the windows, I pulled out onto the street. Inhaling that strong autumn smell, I drove down the road that led to my destiny. I watched the Welcome to Tennessee sign disappear, as I entered into the new territory where I was going to give God all the glory.
Foundation Scriptures:
“Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.”
Matthew 7:13-14 NKJV
“to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”
Ephesians 3:19 NKJV
Personal Thoughts:
I will admit, I fought this story (just like how I fight every story I write, haha). I didn’t like how I had little to no dialogue and most of it was short flashbacks. But I thought about it for a minute and appreciated it for what it is.
It’s a story that dissects and reflects the realities of life, these realities that I’m sure we’ve all experienced in some shape or form. I’ve been doing my best in reaching out to people lately (strangers, family, friends) and reminding them of the simple truth that life just hits us hard. And it hits us really hard.
I’m just in my early phases of adulthood, I have a long ways to go—a lot more years to live through. I’ve experienced things that I still hope I can just wake up one day and forget about completely. But know that most likely isn’t the case. I don’t know what’s ahead, but I’m not afraid of what will happen next. I have these scars inside my soul, probably will get some more later on, but guess what?
My heart isn’t in my scars, my heart is in Jesus Christ.
The same thing goes for all of you, my wonderful readers. Most of you know what I’m talking about way better than I do myself. And for that very reason, I pray that my little short story encourages you to share your story with someone else. What you’ve been through and the fact that you’re still here today—is a miracle in general. Your life gives God glory, simply because you are His child and still living and breathing. Life may really hurt, but you serve a God who really loves and heals.
As a son or daughter of Christ, you have the answer that someone is seeking. The message of hope in your life story, that someone needs to hear.
We all have a lot to give, brothers & sisters, let’s go and give it 🙏
Beautifully written Merissa! Enjoyed reading this and resonate with it as a fellow singer/songwriter who has Christ as well ✨
Please believe me when I say I know where you are coming from. One of these days I will tell you but like you said it is hard to write some things down even at 72.