You are holy and sacred
And utterly unique.
There are gifts you were born to give.
Songs you were born to sing.
Stories you were born to tell.
And if you do not give it,
The world will simply lose it.
It is yours alone to offer,
No one can give it for you.
And Dearest,
Listen, because this is important,
This wounded world
Needs all the songs we can pull from the air,
Every story that helps us to remember.
It needs every single gift, large and small.
And yes, Dearest,
This grateful world does rejoice
Every courageous time
We are true to ourselves and to our gifts.
And so it is, Dear Heart,
We embrace the song and the story
And all our gifts
Because the world has such great need
And because the world exceedingly rejoices
And because there is no sadder thing
Than to leave this world
Having never really shown up.—Carrie Newcomer, A Permeable Life: Poems & Essays
Growing up, I was very active in theater and journalism, both of which taught me to tell other people’s stories. However, I never really developed the skill of identifying and telling my own stories. And in recent years, I’ve surrounded myself with bigger personalities than my own, meaning that I often retreat rather than take up my own space. However, this beautiful poem by soulful, meditative singer-songwriter Carrie Newcomer speaks to my soul’s need to honor and give freely the gifts that were given to me, to tell my own story and sing my own song.
As women, many of us were taught to be demure and humble, but that does not honor the unique gifts we were given. We are the only ones who know our story, who can tell it in all its intricacies. As Sister Joan Chittister would tell us, humility is not thinking too highly—or too lowly—of ourselves. Humility is understanding where we excel as well as where we fall short. It is taking a real and authentic look at ourselves, and sharing our whole selves with the world around us.
There are days when it gets to be 9 o’clock and I heave a big sigh of relief and think, “Phew! I made it through another day!” I can fall into the habit of looking at days as things to survive, rather than really experience. But each time I am present to the bird making a nest in the tree outside my window, my dog’s playful bark, a friend’s struggles with her pre-teen son, the way my husband’s eyes crinkle when he laughs, I am really experiencing life. I am showing up. I am telling my story and singing my song. And as Carrie Newcomer reminds us, “This wounded world needs all the songs we can pull from the air.”
I am always touched by the last lines of Carrie’s poem: “There is no sadder thing than to leave this world having never really shown up.” This also reminds me of Mary Oliver’s famous line from The Summer Day: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Both of these intuitive, insightful women remind us that we have but one life to live, and it’s time that we actually live it.
As you read this poem, what questions call to you? I wonder, what are the gifts I was born to give? How does the world exceedingly rejoice when I share those gifts? How can I really show up in this world?
—Andi Lewis, Prairiewoods marketing coordinator
photo by August Stolba