Chanty's Charm

Today was a lovely day. . . .off exploring some of the hiking trails right here around where I live. I brought Chanty with me. . . .my new best friend. . . .and as I was walking the trail, I was thinking about how we humans are very much like a chanter.

Every chanter, even though it is drilled the same way, still has its own unique sound, tone, and timber. . . .just like people.

I am learning how to play the chanter, and it's not easy. There are holes to navigate and air flow, but the part that was fascinating me today was how the chanter is just the structure. . . .and what makes the chanter play is ultimately the air that blows through. . . . .just like a human body is just the structure for the spirit that God blows through to make each of us come alive with our own music of the soul.

But what if my Chanty had a mind of her own?

If Chanty had a mind of her own, she would also have a will of her own. So, what if she wanted to play different notes than what I wanted to play? What if she played a long, slow, sad durge when I wanted to play a jig? And what if she refused to let the air flow through the holes out of spite? Or what if she believed that she was damaged and broken, unworthy of music to be played through her at all?

I think this is the dance we all dance with God. . . .that battle between who's in control, and whose will we follow. . . .and it makes me think of my life in completely different ways. So as silly as this sounds, I want Chanty to love what she sounds like, even if I make her squak and squeek. I also want her to love what she looks like, even when she gets dinged up from the accidental drops and falls that have already (unfortunately) happened, because she's perfect, just as she is. I can see that about her. . .but I also want her to see that in herself.

If I were a chanter, and God were the Piper, I also know that He would want me to love myself just as I am, too. . . .with all of the dings and dents that I've collected along my nearly fifty year long journey. . . .just like I want for Chanty. So I'm letting go of the need to change who I am so that I can live the life I want, simply by living the life I want. . . .even if nothing ever changes.

No one ever said that letting God be the Piper was going to be easy. . . .

And it's not always easy for me to love what I sound like, or love what I look like with all of the scars that pinch painfully from time to time, but if Chanty can do it, then so can I. . . . so, play on, little chanter girl. . . .play on :)

Too Much Information

I'm on information overload tonight. I've been unpacking some of the boxes of books, and I am overwhelmed by all of this information. But more than that, I am overwhelmed by the fact of how much I do not accept myself as I am, because the vast majority of these books are one form of self-help or personal growth book intended to change some part of me or my life.

Why can't I accept myself as I am?

The answer to this question floods my mind with endless self-hatred. I hate my life. I hate what the panic attacks have done to me and my life. I hate that I can't control them. And I feel stuck in a nightmare from which I can't force myself to wake.

Well...that may be true, but I am going to sort through these books, one by one until I have purged my library and my life of any program intended to change who I am. If I haven't fixed what's wrong by now, it's either not broken, or it's unrepairable. And I don't want to waste any more of my life trying to fix what other people have broken. . . .it's like the trees that have grown around something that was never intented to be a part of the tree, but is now embedded from years of growth around it. . . .and there's no real way to remove the object without killing the tree (or doing serious damage to it).

So acceptance is the answer. . . .even if it's acceptance of a crappy set of life circumstances.