As I child, I noticed mom’s hands
Worn from labors of farming and gardening
I pushed in her blue veins
And laughed as they filled again
They looked so different than my smooth soft hands
Now that I am Mom
My hands too, are worn from labors
I hold my young daughter
She laughs as she manipulates my blue veins
A while back during a writing class I was challenged to re-write a myth. Any myth. In any form.
I must have read twenty or more myths before I came across the “Creation of the Violin,” on Wikipedia no less. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Creation_of_the_Violin But this was literally the only one I felt connected to in any way. I related to the disparity of poverty and wealth, sorrow and joy, longing and fulfillment. I felt the connectivity to all humanity, and as a singer and lover of music, the power of a song is not lost on me. As I wrote, I was able to sense the emotions from the boy’s perspective. While I don’t see it as anything spectacular, I really enjoyed writing this poem.
The Creation of the Violin – Revisited
By Regina Cyzick Harlow
She longed for me, my mother did
To hold her baby flesh and blood
When I was born into this life
She fell ill and shortly died
I lived without her twenty years
I cried ten thousand bitter tears
But I went off to find my love
Guided by mother’s hand above
I came across a palace grand
A rich king with a daughter’s hand
Men had tried the world around
To win his daughter and his crown
I trembled low before His Honor
What must I do to court your daughter?
He cursed at me and bellowed loud
And threw me in the dungeon crude
Foolish boy, I thought aloud
For I am just a peasant’s child
What right have I to royalty
A beggar’s life is fit for me
Doom, despair, despondency
My self-fulfilling prophecy
Poverty is all I know
Crept it’s way into my soul
Light pierced through the dungeon black
A Fairy Queen, and from her back
She took a box and rod of wood
In my hands she placed the goods
I plucked some hairs from off her head
And strung them o’re the box and rod
I tucked the box beneath my chin
And touched the bow upon the string
As music filled the dungeon chamber
Fairy Queen was filled with laughter
Then as I slowed the bow and string
Tears became her offering
I felt a surge within my soul
Another language took control
Tears and laughter came and went
Evoked by my own instrument
Into the box and rod I poured
My lonely tears my childhood joys
My mother’s longing and her death
The odds of poverty and wealth
The chorus of ten thousand others
Joined the song across the ages
Haunting voices throughout history
From the future, still a mystery
Hope, despair, joy, and sorrow
Amalgamated and crescendoed
When at last I took a rest
I could hardly catch my breath
We had no words, the queen and I
No cheers to laugh no tears to cry
The song transcended any language
Gave voice to my deepest anguish
I sat once more before the king
Touched again the box and string
Moved by the magic of the music
King gave his daughter to this peasant
Happily, our ever after
Peasants, Royalty, together
Joined in song by box and string
Creation of the violin
“You have the perfect life,” she said, “a great husband, beautiful children, doing what you love for work. I dream about your life.”
Wait! What?! I nearly spit out my tea.
“You know, what you post on Facebook,” she added, “Your life is perfect.”
First off, I admit, my life is filled with many wonderful things. My husband is loyal, devoted, rock-solid awesomeness. Our children are adorable, have mostly great behavior, and are respectful, caring, compassionate little humans. I am in awe that I get to live my passion of being there for others in grief, even though that calling was birthed through my own dark night of the soul.
Additionally, I am generally a “look on the bright side” kind of gal, so even when life’s suck-o-meter hits red hot, I hurt, shake my fist, and with almost every scenario, find a way to see the positive. (There are exceptions.)
I decided a long time ago a life of gratitude is much sweeter than constant comparisons. I’ve never wanted or intentionally tried to pretend my life was perfect. Sharing my shortcomings and chaos helps me connect to others, but I also don’t want to complain or come across as whining. Ask my children, I loathe whining.
So here’s some real-life relatable blackmail material for you.
I can eat nearly a whole bag of Lay’s BBQ potato chips in one setting, especially when paired with chunks of yummy cheddar cheese. Sometimes I have ice cream for lunch. As much as I enjoy exercise, I’ve been dealing with an excruciating bout of plantar fasciitis for months and just being on my feet is extremely painful. Exercise is pretty much impossible until this improves. So much for rockin’ 40 in August, but I guarantee I still will!
Those adorable wildlings that steal my heart create monster messes (shhhhh, so do their parents) and I’d rather write and read than clean. People, hear me when I say my house is nearly always in disarray. We have an endless cycle of laundry; dirty, drying, unfolded. The counter is a catch-all for school projects, art projects, and cooking projects to the point it becomes a science project. Once, a friend for whom I had set a place for supper said, “Wow, I’ve never seen this end of your kitchen table.” He probably hadn’t.
Sometimes the children fight and the baby cries to the point I give up on cooking supper and we eat cereal instead. My husband gets mad at me. I get frustrated with him.
I have skeletons in my closet. I have family whose skeletons are currently curing. Even when their choices become maddening and hurtful, the decision to love and wrestling with what that love looks like continues to shape and mold me. I fail. Often.
Hopefully this will change soon, but most all of my work is volunteer so we are always trying to make ends meet financially. I spend too much money on groceries.
I deal with anxiety and situational depression. Many days I feel like I don’t do enough, am never enough, can never catch up, never measure up, and wonder if anything I do truly makes a difference. I shoulder the weight of the world, even when it doesn’t ask me to. I am not prone to compare myself with others materialistically, but I am my own worst competition when it comes to making a difference.
I worry about ridiculous things, and our pediatrician can tell you I worry obsessively over our children. Although my Facebook posts might be positive, they are more often a statement of faith than anything else.
So yeah, I love cooking and eating healthy, but am an emotional eater. I love happy kiddos, but ours are still typical stinkers. I love family, even when they make terrible choices. Our struggles might come in different forms, but ultimately we are all living our own vida loco.
We all get lemons, I just much prefer lemonade and will go to great lengths to find the sweetness.
Onward and upward, dear peeps. I’m signing off to clear clutter and eat chips. 
I confess, I’m not a person of faith, not by nature anyway. It is not my natural response to immediately call on Jesus when our daughter is diagnosed with pneumonia and bronchitis or when I get a voicemail from my doctor on a Friday evening telling me she’s reviewed my sonogram and to call her first thing Monday morning.
I get there. I cry out to God. I do feel his presence and comfort in the midst of these storms, but I am the kind of person that needs the encouragement of my family and friends and fellow believers to remind me to trust.
I am Peter who has the faith to step out of the boat, but gets overwhelmed by my circumstances. I am David who longs to serve God wholly and completely and yet fall short in my sin. I am Abraham who hopes against hope that God’s “got this” and yet I am Thomas who can only believe by seeing and touching Jesus for myself. I am Mary, in awe and wonder of the work God has done and wants to do in my life. I am Martha who is so busy serving that I forget the “one thing” that is necessary; to sit with Jesus and to rest quietly in his presence.
I chastise myself for reaching out to others, then I read and listen to the messages of love and encouragement and support and I am thankful and overwhelmed at the beautiful friends I am blessed with. I can only pray I encourage others the way I am lifted up.
We are brothers, sisters, family and friends; sojourners in this difficult and joyful life. We are to weep with those who weep and rejoice with those who rejoice. In this togetherness, we experience a glimpse of the relationship God longs to have with us.
I am so thankful, so very blessed to be surrounded by people who constantly remind me to “Turn my Eyes Upon Jesus.” Because of you, my friends, I am challenged to be a person of faith.
Inspired Ramblings 