“Who lives? Who dies? Who tells your story?”
“Who keeps your flame? Who remembers your name?”
Them be powerful words. Written by the genius who wrote the Broadway hit musical, Hamilton.
I am not a Broadway buff. I am not a history buff. I am not even culturally engaged really. But Pops gave me tickets to the Broadway show a few months back. I had seen a few trailers on tv and it looked intriguing. The original cast is winding up its first year and I was a lucky one to see them before handing over the baton, including Lin-Manuel Miranda, the genius writer, and leading actor.
There is something striking about this musical that has struck me and many others. It swept the Tony’s.
Maybe its hip-hop meets 1776. Maybe its the diversity of the cast. Maybe its the tiny little subtle nuances throughout the whole production that strike yours and my heart at different intervals. Maybe it’s the depth of humanness displayed. Maybe it’s America trying to absorb the history class they slept through in High School.
Who tells my story? Hmmm.
Who carries my flame?
Will my flame be too burdensome to carry?
What is my story? Does it matter to you? Does it matter to anyone? I have been reflecting on it lately. Well.. since I have been trying memorize the whole soundtrack. It is that awesome.
I know we all have a legacy that is left at the feet of our family, friends, community and for some, far wider. What is that legacy? Money? Children and Grandchildren? Careers and talents? Integrity? Our sins and mistakes? Our physical traits? Our quirks? Our habits? Wow. It could be anything. And everything.
Sometimes I sit back and look at my art and the other efforts I deem important and wonder if this will mean a hill a beans when I am gone. What are the sum of my parts? Who will keep my flame? Some people would believe it doesn’t really matter. When you’re gone, you’re gone. I am not of that belief. I believe we are here for a mere breathe but the sum of our mere breaths are vastly important. (Look at Hamilton. His mere breath got himself on the face of an US note.) Every breath counts. Every last one of them. We have a huge opportunity to spread our love here.
I listened to the Hamilton song with my son, Charlie. He told me that HE will tell my story. He asked me what part of my story is important to me? If I could be there to tell my story, what would I want said. That is a good question. A really good question. If I had to give him a jump off place, I’d say:
In all things, she tried desperately to love Jesus………..
If you get a chance, go see Hamilton.
Peace,
Karen
The Shieling 