A song written for me

I recently ran across, in my evening Instagram addiction (that subject can be a whole other story), a site about a family that offers to write a song for you…perhaps as a gift or for a special occasion for someone. 

What a lovely idea. There were photos of each of the four family members, with samples of their voices, so you could pick the one that resonates with you the most. Here was a photo of a musical family… a mother, father, son and daughter, with a wonderful gift to share. Their website is Walker’s Songs, if you are interested in looking them up. Their personal responses to me have been very kind and loving.

I wondered who I could buy a song for. It was, I thought, very reasonably priced for such a personal gift, especially given that they were having a special promotion!

And then I had a thought, a thought that I immediately pushed away, I could ask for a song for myself. 

What? Do I dare?

And then I thought…Well, no one needs to know. 

Yet here I am writing about it! I wanted to write about it because it touched me that much, because it moved me to tears, and because I thought that this message was important to share. 

They ask questions in the application to get a feel for the person that they are going to write a song for. I was open with my answers, as I tend to be these days when I feel that it seems safe enough to do so. I took a leap of faith in this site and pushed ahead.

It took me two days to get the courage to listen to my song once I received it (which was very quick, I might add.) All the insecurities about daring to give myself this arose to tell me that this had been a bad thing to do. How dare I? Who did I think that I was? And who would ever hear my song? And on and on and on the voices inside my head continued. They can be a busy and relentless bunch up there.

I listened to my song, and I cried. The mother, Diane, the one whose voice had resonated with me the most for this request, sang my song. The music was beautiful, and the words felt like it was my soul being put to music. She had woven, with grace and sensitivity, what I had shared about myself, put it to music, and heard me in a way that is rare and precious. She got the essence of who I am. The things that I had shared in the application gave her what was needed to put all that into a song of my life. Her voice made it come to life and made my spirit sing along. She titled my song “Coming Home to Me”. This was perfect.

As an elder now, this experience touched me more than I can adequately describe. To have given this gift to myself was something that I did not realize the importance of until I received it, heard it, felt it.

I will send it to my private fiduciary to include with my final arrangements. I want to have my song and story with me on my final journey.

 I haven’t had a lover write a song for me, but now I have had a song written for me with what I wanted included in that song. I, who know best what those lyrics should include and what the tone, subject, and feel should be. 

I think that we all need to give special gifts to ourselves, whether it be a song, a painting, or whatever moves you. We can give ourselves the message that we deserve this, that our story is worthy of being told and sung, that we have music within us to share, that we each are a song with gifts. We can not only find our voice, but have it reflected to us, with love. 

Hear and claim your voice, paint your spirit, have someone reflect your story back to you. Dare to let yourself be seen and heard. Dare to honor the sacred being that you are. Give voice to your life, hear the music of your soul, and celebrate the song that is you.