I Wanted to Sing

I always wanted to sing.  There were times when the dreams of my future were unbearably real, but none of the dreams that I had as a child ever came close to being a reality.

The violin lessons when I was six were interesting, but in school when the lessons stopped, there were no more lessons.

The ballet lessons stopped when the instructor told me at 8 years old that she did not know why I was taking lessons because I was much too tall to be a ballerina.

Then there was singing.  I could still sing.  I did not need lessons for that.  Ah, but according to my step-mother, my talent was not in singing.  So, at 12, my singing was not to be.  It is difficult to sing your heart out when some unthinking person has cut out your heart and stomped on it.


I painted in oils.  I painted portraits.  I was pretty good, but I stopped because people, well intentioned people, told me that I would never make a living at it and I needed to find something to make a living with.
I wrote stories, but they were not what anyone wanted to read. I listened to people tell me that if I just changed this or that and made it sound like it wasn't what I wrote, it might be okay.

I was a pretty good cook.  I baked cakes for people and was starting to decorate the different than anything that anyone else was doing.  People actually liked them, but I had to move and when I did I had to give up my "hobby".  I just never got back into it.  I moved too much and work stole all my time.

But I could act.  And act I did.  I learned that if I showed any preference for something; if I let it slip that I liked something, somehow it would be taken from me.  So I learned to act.  I acted like nothing bothered me.

"Go ahead, do your best.  Tear me down.  I don't care." was my attitude.  I learned to not let anyone know what I really liked to do because I was laughed at.  Maybe those people had a point.  Maybe I would not have ever been  a ballerina.  Maybe the violin was not my calling.  Maybe I really can't sing.  Maybe all those nay-sayers were right.  But I sure can act.

There are still times in my life when I think I can sing.  I still sing when I am alone.  I no longer sing in the choir.  I got tired of hearing that the piece I sang was not what they wanted to hear.

I am tired of not doing the things that gave me so much pleasure so many years ago.  Those childish desires harmed no one.  They simply gave a little pain in the ears or eyes of a few harsh, unthinking, simple minded people.


I will sing another song, if only to the Lord.  I may even paint another scene or portrait.  I may even learn to play an instrument.  It won't matter to any of those people because they are no longer in any position to care.

The moral of this story is:

Don't let someone steal your dream from you.  Don't hand them your dream either.  Keep your dream alive and Lord Willing, live your dream.