By Chris Manion
She won’t speak unless I touch her. And lately, I’ve
been avoiding touching her. I’m not sure why.
My cello sits in my music room and waits for me. An
empty chair faces the music stand where the bow hangs. I abandoned my cello two
years ago when I began the labor pains of birthing my first book. I couldn’t do
both. The book demanded all my attention and effort. I think real babies are
easier to birth than books.
It’s easy to project feelings onto my cello, but
she’s too perfect to do anything but wait for me. She’s neither restless nor
disappointed. My husband, God love him, simply sits in a chair and thumbs
through emails when I’m running late. He makes no comments or sounds, knowing
such actions won’t help. God’s like this, too. He waits with eternal patience
for me to give him my time. Our readers wait.
My cello won’t speak unless I draw a bow across her
beautiful body and make her strings cry out and sing. A writer’s work won’t
speak until her fingers touch the keys, record button, or pen.
I think about my cello almost every day. I dust her.
I walk past her. My mind dismisses my weak mantra of I’ve-got-to-get-back-to-playing
as easily as a child dismisses a mother’s admonition. My commitment to play her
hangs like wet laundry on the line, limp.
I think about my writing every day, too. But like
thoughts of doing sit-ups after giving birth, unless I actually do some
writing, those weak writing muscles will not tone up by themselves.
Until I abandoned my cello, I never understood why
many writers complained about not being able to write. I get it now. The longer
I stay away from playing my cello, the easier it is to forget the exhilaration
of making music.
When I plant myself in the chair and start playing,
the wood warms, the strings stretch, and my muscles remember what to do.
Vibrations rumble against my chest, music opens in the air and magic begins.
Something happens after I sit in my writing chair and begin a few sentences. Fresh
words take off in new directions, opening in the air between my heart and mind.
Stay tuned for seven lessons my cello provided to my
writing in Part 2.
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Best-selling author
Chris Manion is a conference and retreat speaker as well an award-winning
catechist. Chris served as a coach and national leader in the direct selling
industry for twenty-six years where she built a $20 million sales organization
before retiring. Chris’s mission spotlights the oneness of all creation; her
writing and talks encourage hearts to awaken to what
their souls know but may have forgotten. Chris blogs at www.PuttingontheNew.com and www.ChrisManion.com/blog. God’s Patient Pursuit of My Soul can be
found at Amazon www.tinyurl.com/GodisPatient, Barnes & Noble, and www.Redemption-Press.com/shop. Social Media links: ht http:www.twitter.com/chrismanionbook
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