Write Songs Not From Memory But From Possibility

Jesus often spoke in parables. He did so because he longed to reach people's hearts more than people's minds. Our hearts best connect at the intersection of each other's stories.

I've been playing around lately with turning some of my 3,000 articles into parables. Stories reach the heart sometimes in ways mere articles cannot. And my desire, like Jesus, is to reach hearts.

With that said, I have turned an article I wrote last year into a story I want to share today. I'll link the original article in the comments. I'd love to know your thoughts.

Stories always resonate with me, so this was fun to do.

***
I sat on the edge of my chair, fingers gripping the neck of my guitar, pressing into the same old chords I had played a thousand times before. The wood was worn, the strings stretched thin, but it still felt like home. Safe. Predictable.

Mr. Ellis sat across from me, listening, his fingers tapping on the music stand in front of him. When I finished the song, I let the last note hang in the air, waiting for his usual nod of approval. But today, he just sighed.

"You play that well, Liam," he said, tilting his head. "But why do you never play anything new?"

I shrugged, looking down at my guitar. "These are the songs I know."

Mr. Ellis leaned forward. "I know. But are they still your songs?"

His words caught me off guard. I frowned. "What do you mean?"

He stood and walked to the shelf, pulling out a crisp piece of sheet music. He placed it in front of me. "Try this."

I barely glanced at it before shaking my head. "I can’t play that."

"You haven’t even tried."

I sighed, feeling the pressure mount in my chest. "I just… I don’t know it. And I don’t want to mess up."

Mr. Ellis watched me for a moment before speaking. "Keith, do you love music?"

"Of course."

"Then tell me this—when was the last time you felt something when you played?"

I opened my mouth to answer but hesitated. I thought back to all the times I sat in this room, playing the same songs over and over. I told myself it was because I loved them, but now that I thought about it… maybe it was something else. A habit. A routine. Something I could control.

Mr. Ellis nodded, as if he could see the wheels turning in my head. "I think, somewhere along the way, you stopped playing for the love of music and started playing for the safety of what you already know."

I swallowed hard. "These songs… they remind me of when I started. Of when my grandfather gave me this guitar. Of when music felt… easier."

Mr. Ellis softened. "I get that. But music isn’t meant to stay the same. It grows with you. And if you keep playing the songs of the past, you might never hear the music that’s waiting for you now."

I stared down at my guitar, my fingers thoughtlessly tracing the strings.

"Just try," Mr. Ellis said, tapping the new sheet music. "Not because you have to. But because maybe, just maybe, there’s a new song inside of you that’s been waiting to be played."

I hesitated, then slowly set my fingers on the frets. I strummed once. The chord was unfamiliar, a little shaky, but there was something about it—something alive.

And for the first time in a long time, I played not from memory, but from possibility.

*Story is based on the following article written in 2024: ​https://www.rkcwrites.com/rkc-blogs/dont-let-the-emotions-of-your-past-write-the-songs-of-your-future