My dreams of reaching thousands with my words and/or music, or selling enough books and recordings to live on — well, they remain just dreams.
“Tell a story,” my self-editor murmurs. “People want to hear a story.” But the audience dips for the posts with an ongoing story, if I am to believe the almighty ANALYTICS.
My main story and message are about finally hearing the still, small voice whispering, “Love God and love your neighbor as yourself — upon these two commandments lays the whole of the law.”
And every day the news couriers relay word of a neglected God and hate for our neighbors — and few are as hateful as the ones who point their fingers and accuse their neighbors of hatred and bigotry, so blind they cannot see their own hatred and their flaming bigotry.
Yet I have no more right to be heard than anyone else. There is a board in my eye, so how can I criticize the speck in my neighbor’s eye? “You started it!” we shout at each other. “When your guy does it, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with it,” and round and round we go and no one listens.
I would rather tell stories and make music, and listen to stories and other people’s songs. I would rather be “too busy singing to put anybody down.” Is that any way to be heard?
Is it that important to be heard? Well, yes, if I want people to hear that beautiful still, small voice with its important message. We are all neighbors, remember. You do remember, don’t you? Under all the shouting is that most important whisper: We are all neighbors.
