I’m standing on stage. My eyes are closed. I’m mentally preparing for the song that is supposed to come next, but instead I hear this:
“I surrender all, I surrender all. All to thee my blessed Savior, I surrender all.”
I feel the warmth of tears fill my still closed eyes.
I see my mother in front of me. Holding my face in her hands. Her hazel eyes staring into mine. “Sing with me, Frankie. I surrender all, I surrender all.”
The picture is so, so vivid. Is this happening inside my mind? Is this a memory that I’ve forgotten until this moment?
Seeing my mom and feeling her so close for the first time in 10 years broke my heart and brought healing all in a brief moment. The gentle, yet insistent voice asking me to sing these words. Who knew it was exactly what I needed in this season?
A lot of things around me have changed and continue to change. Often I’m holding on really, really tightly to try and control each turn, each bump in the road, each start and stop.
It’s exhausting. Trying to maintain control is a relentless pursuit. The idea of having control makes me believe, somehow, that I’ll be less anxious.
But sometimes, for me, anxiety is not actually anxiety. It’s grief that I’ve suppressed trying to find its way out.
These moments of remembering… they are holy. If I’m willing to lean in - to feel what is sitting in my throat - healing begins to happen.
Those 30 seconds of remembering my mom so vividly hurt. It felt like a sharp stab of pain.
What followed was a deep, deep sense of gratitude - I might even call it joy - for the memory of a woman who shaped me and loved me so, so well.
Grief and gratitude are often side my side. You just have to be willing to walk between them and acknowledge each as it brushes (or pushes) your side…
The songwriting in Kacey Musgraves’ latest album is incredible, and in the middle of this great album is a very short song titled “Mother.” It’s a beautifully eloquent and simple song in such a short amount of time. It quickly became a favorite, and I’m glad to share it with you.