Parts of Me

I’d reached a place where I felt stretched far too thin. In the middle of this hurried season of life, I found myself teaching at yet another conference. One woman took time to ask me about my life. I opened up and shared about the difficulties of trying to care for our spread-out family. Our daughter in New York was going through a serious illness, but we still had one son at home preparing to head to college.

Later at the conference, I ran into the woman again. When I complimented her bracelet, she took hold of my hand and transferred the jewelry from her wrist to mine. The charms of the musical instruments that decorated the bracelet seemed to dance against my skin. I asked her why she’d gifted me such a beautiful piece.

She smiled. “You mentioned that you played several instruments. I want you to remember that music is still a part of you.” She gave me a quick hug and then left.

During hard times and the struggles of being a caregiver, it’s easy for me to forget all the parts of myself that make me the person I am. I took the time to play the piano the other day. Something I hadn’t done in a long time, but I needed to. It’s a part of who I am.