what i’ll do instead
“the normal kids use these.”
mazzy’s classmate says this to me.
she says it in the music room. she says it without much thought because there is normal and then there is her – her friends, her class.
i am kind of stunned and so i don’t say it quick like i should, the response that shows up in your brain four or five hours later.
“you look pretty normal to me.”
what i wish i said.
and sometimes i hate this world.
with its glass walls of what is normal. the walls that exist but you don’t know are there until you run smack into them and find out that, oh – i can’t go any further.
i’ve watched mazzy navigate the invisible barriers of this world and she’s good at it. but that’s it. that she has had to become good at it. that she has to navigate them at all. that is the stumble into a bottomless black that would overwhelm me entirely if not for jesus and the hope of a world that doesn’t work like this one does.
i’d like to take a hammer and break all these walls that i can’t see.
but i can’t see them.
so i’ll pick up a cello and i’ll write you a song instead, mazzy.
i’ll play it so well, so beautifully, that the ugly world might quiet down and listen.
when i’m asked how did you write that? i’ll say that you taught me how to write it, mazzy and i’ll pray that changes invisible things and that this world can begin to look a little more like the next.