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I never asked for this. Because I never had the guts to think this far. But if I had dreamed as high and as wide as I could, this would be the beginning of that dream.
Yesterday I stepped out of a room and closed the door. Standing alone inside that room was a microphone: I had just finished recording my first song. A song I wrote. Melody. Lyrics. Mine. Honestly I felt significantly less than I had expected to. There was no screaming and running about the studio flailing my arms and knocking over any producer or vocal coach that might step within the rampage circuit. That will come when I hear the finished product of my song all mixed and magical (At that moment in time, bystanders beware…you were warned of my rampaging tendencies ) But even as I stood there, hearing my producer say “Jewel…you just finished a song.” There were no fireworks. But…there was a deep reservoir inside me that was filling for the first time. Waiting tables, cleaning condos, running errands, making 500 calls a day…all of those had dropped into an inner crater and were quickly absorbed by the thirsty ground. But this. This music, this art. It started like a gentle stream healing the heat and the cracks. I know that if it wasn’t for my King, those cracks would remain no matter what I put in that crater. But I am healed and full because the water of my art is mingled with red.
Walking out of that studio didn’t feel new to me. It felt like I had found an old glove that I had lost for a long time, and had easily slipped onto my hand. It didn’t feel stiff, cold and foreign. It felt warm, soft and already shaped to my skin. If I felt anything, it was almost a guilt. It was too easy. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve to walk out of a studio without demons flying at my head to oppose me. Driving home with no AC and baking in the Los Angeles heat, I let these thoughts drift inside me and began to remember…the darkness.
Those years where my Love was nowhere in sight, and all I had was the belief that this would pass…that someday I’d feel something good again…that all this darkness couldn’t exist without an alternate and death-obliterating light to conquer it in the end. But that was four years ago. These last four years I’ve been slowly healing, slowly growing, slowly learning to breath again without feeling like I’m inhaling shrapnel into my heart. As I pulled out my journals from those years tears began to escape and build into sobs. No. This hadn’t been easy. The battles I fought were real, and the scars I bear bleed a little even as I sing. The time between doesn’t change the fact I had to fight to get here. I didn’t carry myself through that darkness- He did. But I did make the choice, every day, to choose Him instead of an escape, an idol, a drug, or even ending it all. I chose to believe Him even when all I saw was darkness and all I felt was torment. And that is why now…I believe He is well-pleased to give me my dream.
The hardest part is often not the intensity of the trial, but the length of it. For 28 years I’ve lived unaware of my specific purpose, and for 2 I lived in desolation. But now…now I am a singer.
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1999 Diary- Today at church class I got prayed for like everyone else in the class. They said I had a strong annointing in faith. And that my sensitivity made me encourage people. They also said I was strong in music & worship!!! And they felt I have the gift of healing. O God may I use these gifts you’ve given me well!
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