“The snow glows white on the mountain tonight, not a footprint to be seen. A kingdom of isolation, and it looks like I’m the Queen. The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside. Couldn’t keep it in, heaven knows I tried.” ~Idina Menzel
This is the song my littlest girl sings every day of her life. With the video release of “Frozen” set for tomorrow, I couldn’t let the day pass without saying something about what it means to us girls.
My littlest girl. Maylee Ruth. She won’t open gifts if anyone is watching. She clings to her mama when she enters new places. She doesn’t answer questions when more than one person is listening. She is going to be five in two short weeks. My youngest daughter is inexplicable shy. Her feelings are more fragile than anyone else in the family. All you have to do is look at her wrong and she runs away, hides her face, and begins to cry.
She loves to sing, though. She’s got a great big, bossy mouth at times, too. If no one is watching she belts it out like nobody’s business, complete with a heaping dose of charisma and congeniality.
I used to sing, too. That is, until someone, somewhere who was in a position of power told me I could not. I stopped singing. I felt small. I believed him. I felt sad. I was small. I was sad.
What does a little girl do when she cannot sing her song? What if she’s got something serious to say?
Perhaps she speaks instead.
It seems somewhat strenuous to speak when one is not being spoken to, though. When all the important people are talking and all the seats are taken, sad, small voices don’t get much of a listen. So, in her shyness, she sheepishly stops speaking. She retreats the moment she realizes all that she says is sterile.
What does a little girl do when she is unheard, though? What if she has something she simply must say?
Perhaps she will write instead.
Yes. She will write. She will write and write and write. Every single day she will write what most grips her heart and she will show it to them. She will share every thought; every joy; every pain; every discovery. She will share her very heart with ink and parchment. She will be an open book for all who care to read. Her fragile, timid heart will be read in the lines of her expositions. The risk of rejection after much rejection is even greater now. But…well…I suppose she will share it anyway because, because, because she has so very much to say.
She found the pearl some years ago. She found what every heart seems to search unknowingly for. She must show them. She must describe him. She must seize their attention somehow. She must! So, she writes.
She hears the powerful people shout repeatedly from the table. Over and over and over again soberly at her they say, “STOP!” They want her to be silent. She stopped singing. She stopped speaking. “Now, just stop scribbling, small trifle. There is no seat here for your songs, your statements, your stories, or your study. Stay silent and small where no one can see him in you.”
She thought. She thought and thought and thought about this final instruction. She felt fragile. She cried. She stayed quiet for some time. She even stopped searching for him. She started to give up. He was, after all, everything to her. He was all that was real. He was all she ever had. She could not bear not sharing him. He was her heart. Without him, she turned cold. She no longer cared. Nothing was real. Nothing meant anything without him.
Jesus. She wrote about Jesus. She loved him all her life…since she was a small, shy, fragile, poor, little girl. Moreover, he loved her. She simply had to say it.
What does a little girl do when she stops writing about her first love, though?
Perhaps she hides her face and begins to cry. She is just a little girl with feelings more fragile than anyone else in the family, after all. Maybe, just maybe, she will let it go for good this time, though. Funny thing about little girls, though…they often let go when they really should be holding on and hold on when they really should be letting go. No matter. Perhaps its far too late for such realizations. Perhaps she will seek what is real and true apart from those whom she always thought could help her do so. The cold doesn’t bother her anyway.