Chapter 3
A Gentle Flame's Promise
Despite the pain etched into her soul, Anastasia's belief in love remains. A gentle flame, it persists against the cold of her experiences, fueling her desire for connection and a future where love is possible. DIDN'T BREAK MY MAMA'S HEART **[Verse 1]** I was nine years old, a promise in my hand,Wrote it in my Bible, dreaming of a distant land.Told the Lord I'd run away, chase a country song.Feed the hungry children, right every wrong **[Pre-Chorus]** But every time I packed my dreams, I heard my mama cry.Her gentle voice, her loving eyes, I just couldn't say goodbye **[Chorus]** I didn't break my mama's heart, I stayed and found my way,Turned my dreams to letters, sent them out in faithIf the song hits you, let it heal, let it play a part.But I didn't break my mama's heart **[Verse 2]** Read the stories, found the need, saw the world in pain.Wrote to all my heroes, offered hope in my name.Said, "If you sing this song, give to those in need"Built a bridge of kindness, planted every seed **[Pre-Chorus]** I could've left for fortune, but love kept me home.Mama's prayers beside me, I was never alone **[Chorus]** I didn't break my mama's heart, I stayed and found my way,Turned my dreams to letters, sent them out in faithIf the song hits you, let it heal, let it play a part.But I didn't break my mama's heart **[Bridge]** Maybe I never made a fortune, but I kept my promise true,Fed the hungry with my music, gave my heart to you **[Chorus]** I didn't break my mama's heart, I stayed and found my way.Turned my dreams to letters, sent them out in faith.If the song hits you, let it heal, let it play a part.But I didn't break my mama's heart **[Outro]** No, I didn't break my mama's heartI just loved her from the start,And every song I write is proof I didn't break my momma's heart **[Chorus]** I didn't break my mama's heart, I stayed and found my way,Turned my dreams to letters, sent them out in faith.If the song hits you, let it heal, let it play a part.But I didn't break my mama's heart....... SINGING ANYWAY [Verse 1] They said Sit still Dreams like yours get small-town killed Tiny stage in a mirror frame Hairbrush in my hand like it had my name Ten years old Writing letters in a rhyming code Singing to posters on my wall Asking them to help me help them all [Pre-Chorus] “Would you share your light With someone in the dark?” Every line I wrote Was a spark Was a start [Chorus] So I sing it anyway Even if they roll their eyes and turn away Every “you can’t” just feeds the flame ‘Cause there’s no such thing as “I can’t” Just “I’m on my way” Yeah I sing it anyway Even if they never learn my name Somewhere out there Quiet in a bedroom Someone’s hiding one of my songs But it’s okay I’ll sing it anyway [Verse 2] It’s a shame How they laugh when they don’t know your pain How a dream on a different face Makes ‘em twist your hope into a cage But I keep score In coffee cups and cheap encore Every time I almost quit The little girl in me won’t hear of it [Pre-Chorus] I still write those lines Like prayers in the dark If one person sings along That’s enough of a start [Chorus] So I sing it anyway Even if they roll their eyes and turn away Every “you can’t” just feeds the flame ‘Cause there’s no such thing as “I can’t” Just “I’m on my way” Yeah I sing it anyway Even if they never learn my name Somewhere out there Quiet in a bedroom Someone’s hiding one of my songs But it’s okay I’ll sing it anyway [Bridge] Maybe one day Someone brave will raise their hand and say “I believed before the world did I’ve been playing her words since we were kids” (oh) Till then I’ll keep that promise To that little girl who started this [Chorus] I’ll sing it anyway Even when my voice is shaking Come what may Every “you can’t” just feeds the flame There’s no such thing as “I can’t” Just “I’ll find a way” Yeah I sing it anyway If I’m the only one who ever presses play I will still be standing in this bedroom Turning every wound into a song Come what may I’ll sing it anyway YOU CAN STILL SING [Verse 1] Quiet house Ticking clock Blue glow on my face Scrolling through a thousand lives Trying not to think of mine Kids grown up Grandbabies laughing On a tiny little screen I spent my best and busiest years Holding everyone but me [Chorus] But you can still sing You can still shine Age is just the story Not the ending of the line You can still rise From every "not good enough" sting You’re still that little girl inside And you can still sing (you can still sing) [Verse 2] Used to stand on chairs and hum So shy But you were brave Then the voices started stacking Like a choir made of shame "No You can’t Who do you think you are?" They carved that in your mind Now the loudest sound in this old room Is the way they hit rewind [Chorus] But you can still sing You can still shine Age is just the story Not the ending of the line You can still rise From every "not good enough" sting You’re still that little girl inside And you can still sing (oh, you can still sing) [Bridge] Picture her Bare feet on the carpet Hairbrush like a silver mic She didn’t need a single hand to clap for her She just loved the way it felt inside So hum that tune Under your breath Let it shake Inside your chest You don’t need a crowd To make this real It’s yours It’s yours to feel [Chorus] ‘Cause you can still sing You can still shine You don’t need permission Or a finish line You can still rise From every old echo that rings You’re still that fearless child inside And you can still sing (you can still sing) (you can still sing) SHEPHERD'S GOT MY BACK [Verse 1] I’ve told you once I’ve told you twice If I start a thing I pay that price Mud on my shoes Tears on my face But I keep walking I stay in place For God is my Shepherd He leads my feet Through crowded rooms And broken streets You called me crazy You called me dead He called me daughter And raised my head [Chorus] Shepherd got my back I fear no evil Talk all you want I’m still His people (oh yeah) You can steal my change Try to steal my name But you can’t touch the hand That broke my chains Shepherd got my back I walk through fire You can’t kill a soul He rewrote my wires You can bruise my skin You can stain my shirt But I rose from the dirt ‘Cause He said I’m worth it [Verse 2] Fourteen years old Cleats too big Helmet on crooked Heart too big Said I was a girl Like that meant stop I laced ‘em tighter I ran that rock You tried to bench me Hide me away Didn’t want the world To watch me play If you’re a man Who fears my light You’re fighting God You already lost that fight [Bridge] You can bully me You can break my phone You can leave me there To walk home alone You can mark my name With every rumor you’ve said But God brought me back Yeah God raised the dead (hey!) [Chorus] Shepherd got my back I fear no evil Talk all you want I’m still His people You can steal my change Try to steal my name But you can’t touch the hand That broke my chains Shepherd got my back I walk through fire You can’t kill a soul He rewrote my wires You can bruise my skin You can stain my shirt But I rose from the dirt ‘Cause He said I’m worth it VOICE OF AN ANGEL [Verse 1] Ten years old Notebook open on my knees Trying to rhyme With all those legends on TV Dreaming of neon names But singing in a one-room town Church choir, school stage Hand-me-down Sunday gown [Verse 2] They said you won’t make it “Girl, this dream ain’t for you You gotta know the right names There’s a door you can’t walk through” But they didn’t see me praying On that crooked bedroom floor Didn’t hear my grandma say “Child, you’re meant for more” [Chorus] She said, “Sing it like you’re already on that stage Like every word is gonna wash someone’s pain away You got God on your side You’re stronger than you know” Took my shaking, little heart And she wouldn’t let it go “Baby, don’t you ever doubt it, You’ve got the voice of an angel” (voice of an angel) [Bridge] So when the world talks loud And the doubt cuts deep I hear her Sunday whisper Ringing over every cheap seat “I see a fire in you No one else can change” And I stand a little taller Every time I hear my name [Chorus] She said, “Sing it like you’re already on that stage Like every word is gonna wash someone’s pain away You got God on your side You’re stronger than you know” Took my shaking, little heart And she wouldn’t let it go “Baby, don’t you ever doubt it, You’ve got the voice of an angel” (keep singing, angel)
The worn pages of Anastasia’s notebook felt like extensions of her own skin, each scuff and crease a testament to the stories whispered within. Chapter three, she’d titled it, a tentative exploration of a feeling that had, for so long, seemed an impossible luxury: a gentle flame. It flickered, small and persistent, against the biting winds of her past, a quiet rebellion against the encroaching shadows.
She sat by the window, the late afternoon sun casting long, warm bars across the floorboards. Outside, the world hummed with ordinary life – the distant laughter of children, the rumble of a passing car, the rustle of leaves. These were the sounds of a life she was slowly, painstakingly, learning to inhabit again. Her fingers traced the lyrics of a song she’d written, a melody born from the quiet strength of her grandmother’s words, from the unwavering belief of a shepherd who walked beside her even when the path was shrouded in darkness.
*“Sing it like you’re already on that stage,”* her grandmother’s voice echoed, a soft lilt in the memory, *“Like every word is gonna wash someone’s pain away.”* Anastasia closed her eyes, picturing the worn hymnal, the scent of old paper and devotion. That voice, a beacon in the storm, had planted a seed of possibility, a whisper that even in the ruins, something beautiful could still bloom.
She turned a page, her gaze falling on the words of “Shepherd’s Got My Back.” The raw honesty of it still surprised her, the simple, powerful declaration of faith that had carried her through moments when all else had crumbled. *“You can bruise my skin, you can stain my shirt, but I rose from the dirt ‘cause He said I’m worth it.”* It was a truth she was still learning to fully embrace, a truth that felt both fragile and immensely powerful. The echoes of the past, those shadowy figures that had once loomed so large, were beginning to recede, their whispers fading in the face of this growing inner certainty. They were not gone, not entirely, but their grip was loosening, their power diminished by the light of her own resilience.
Anastasia picked up her pencil, the familiar weight a comfort in her hand. The gentle flame, she thought, was not a roaring bonfire, not yet. It was a candle, perhaps, held steady against a draft. It was the quiet hum of hope that persisted even when the world screamed doubt. It was the unwavering belief that love, in its myriad forms, was not a forgotten language, but one waiting to be spoken again.
She remembered the song, "Didn't Break My Mama's Heart." It was a testament to a different kind of strength, the quiet power of staying, of choosing love and commitment over the siren call of escape. She hadn’t run away, not from the brokenness, not from the pain. Instead, she had faced it, armed with a promise and a faith as small and potent as a mustard seed. And in staying, in transforming those dreams into letters, into songs, she had found a way to heal, not just herself, but perhaps, in some small way, others too.
A soft knock at the door startled her. It was Mrs. Gable, her landlady, a woman whose kindness was as steady as the sunrise. She carried a small plate of freshly baked cookies, their sweet aroma filling the air.
“Just thought you might like some of these, dear,” Mrs. Gable said, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Cold evening out there.”
Anastasia smiled, a genuine, unforced smile that reached her eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. Gable. That’s so thoughtful.”
Mrs. Gable peered at the notebook on the table. “Writing your songs?”
Anastasia nodded, her heart swelling with a warmth that had nothing to do with the cookies. “Trying to.”
“They’re beautiful, you know,” Mrs. Gable said softly, her gaze lingering on Anastasia’s face with a knowing gentleness. “I heard you singing the other day. That one about the shepherd… it makes my old heart feel lighter.”
The words were a balm. It was these small affirmations, these moments of shared humanity, that fed the gentle flame. They were the proof that her voice, her songs, had the power to reach beyond the confines of her own pain.
“I… I’m glad,” Anastasia murmured, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
Mrs. Gable placed the cookies on the table. “Don’t you ever let anyone tell you otherwise, Anastasia. You’ve got a gift. A real gift.” She paused, her voice dropping to a more serious, yet still warm, tone. “And that little spark of yours, that belief in things… it’s a powerful thing. Don’t ever let it go out.”
As Mrs. Gable left, Anastasia felt a renewed sense of purpose. The echoes of the past tried to interject, whispering doubts of unworthiness, of impossibility. But they were losing their resonance. The mustard seed of faith, nurtured by kindness and the unwavering belief of those who saw her light, was beginning to sprout.
She looked at the lyrics of "Singing Anyway." The defiance in those words, the stubborn refusal to be silenced, felt more relevant than ever. *“Every ‘you can’t’ just feeds the flame,”* she had written, a declaration of her own fierce spirit. It was a spirit that refused to be extinguished, a spirit that understood that even in the face of overwhelming odds, the act of singing, of creating, was an act of survival, an act of love.
The gentle flame wasn’t just about love for others, she realized. It was also about a burgeoning love for herself. It was the acceptance of her past, not as a defining sentence, but as a chapter that had forged her strength. It was the understanding that her dreams, once deemed too small or too dangerous, were now the very fuel that kept her moving forward.
She thought about the song "You Can Still Sing." The words were a direct address, a tender reminder to herself that the girl who once stood on chairs, hairbrush microphone in hand, was still within her. *“You’re still that little girl inside, and you can still sing.”* It was a mantra, a promise whispered in the quiet moments when the weight of the world felt too heavy to bear.
The darkness she had known was a profound test, a crucible that had threatened to consume her. But within that darkness, the faintest glimmer had persisted. It was the memory of her mother’s love, the unwavering faith of her grandmother, the quiet strength of the shepherd who guided her steps. These were the elements that had coalesced into the gentle flame, a light that promised warmth and hope.
She began to write, the pencil flying across the page. This wasn't about reliving the pain, not anymore. It was about acknowledging it, yes, but then, about transforming it. It was about weaving the threads of her experience into a tapestry of resilience. The songs that had once been cries of despair were slowly evolving, their melodies carrying a new cadence, a rhythm of hope.
The gentle flame of love was not a naive belief in a perfect, unblemished world. It was a profound understanding that love existed, even in the cracks and crevices of brokenness. It was the love of a landlady who offered cookies, the love of a grandmother who saw a fire, the love of a shepherd who never faltered. And it was the love Anastasia was learning to offer herself, a love that allowed her to pick up her pencil, to open her notebook, and to sing, not just anyway, but with a newfound certainty.
She looked out the window again. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. It was a beautiful, fleeting spectacle, much like the gentle flame itself. But even as the light faded, it left behind a promise of dawn, a certainty that the sun would rise again. And Anastasia, with her songs and her unwavering faith, would be there to greet it, her voice stronger, her heart lighter, ready to sing. The echoes of the past were still there, faint murmurs in the twilight, but they were no longer the loudest sound. The gentle flame, fueled by the quiet power of love and resilience, was beginning to burn brighter, illuminating the path forward, a path that, though scarred, was undeniably her own.