I Know

I know.

I know who.

I know who I......AM.

I am the little girl who dreamed of becoming the first woman president; reading books of Geraldine Ferraro and passionately advocating for women everything.

I am the little girl grown who fell in love - not only with the little boy grown - but with the idea of marriage and babies and lifelong love.

I am the grown girl with a shattered heart, broken into a million pieces only to be gathered up and stitched together to beat stronger and louder than before. 

I am the grown up girl finding her voice - away from what she's known and who she's been - becoming her own.

I am the young woman falling in love with life, with love, with herself - running free and imagining a life lived, children loved, ideas free-flowing and space to run.

I am the wife learning to love another - one who is different, one who is challenge and encouragement and love unconditional all in one......learning and loving, two in one.

I am the mom who discovers depth and freedom and heartache and mourning all in the space of one cry - the tears of the mother and the child running together in the dark of night leading to the joy of the morning.

I am the woman who stands and shouts and cries out for FREEDOM AND LOVE for all - the empowered woman who discovers SHE CAN.

And then..............I stumble.  I fall.  And that woman, that mom, that wife, that young woman, that grown up girl, that grown girl, that little girl grown, that little girl..........she stops.

She stops loving freely.

She stops discovering.

She stops dreaming.

She stops running.

She stops learning.

She stops thinking SHE CAN.

She stops.

And ever so gently He comes.

He kneels down.

He lifts her up in His arms and He carries her.

His love for her is almost painful as it touches the wounds and the pain and the scars that she carries with her.  Her shattered heart has become used to the fear and the shame and guilt that have become friends to her along the way. 

And yet......He is stronger.

He carries her a bit farther along and she begins to talk and dream - finding her voice, finding her first loves recognizing the ones who are with her and for her and she begins to cry out in her excitement for FREEDOM and LOVE for all and what about this and that and the other things and what if we could do this and what if this were possible and what if this could happen......do you think? 

And before she even realizes she's off and running once more...........this little girl grown.

Her Father?

He shakes His head and wonders at His creation. 

His approval and love always there should she stumble and fall again.

The Child

The child ran through the park - moving from swings to slide to monkey bars.  The sun was shining, the sky was blue.  It was the type of day that only exists in childhood memories.

A shot ripped through the perfect canvas of that day.

The child froze. 

Another shot.

The adults came running.

Another shot.

They checked the child.

No physical harm had been done.

Where were the shots coming from?

The adults ran throughout the park, trying to identify and isolate the cause of the shots.  The child remained rooted in one spot.  Each adult would return to the child to check in, to reassure, to hold onto.......more for themselves than for the child.  Then back out they would go.

As the sun began to lower in the sky the adults returned - one by one - to gather around the child.  Out of their fear, they began to argue.  Their shouts filled the park and rose above the child.  Their protective circle turning into boxing ring where they began to throw punches with their words, turning on one another rather than towards one another.

Blame was cast everywhere - the hope being that it would land furtherest from where they were standing.  Anywhere but upon themselves. 

On and on it raged while the child cowered below them.

The arguing continued for quite some time. 

And then..........there appeared a man. 

He weaved his way through the angry adults who by now had organized and had picket signs and the media had come and was filming the adults as they shouted and protested and argued with one another.  He seemed to create space all around him as he moved that allowed him to find the child in the midst of all the anger, fear and confusion.  He knelt down next to the child and drew a tic tac toe board and a big "X" in the middle square.  This man was kind but he was not dumb, he knew the best place to start.

The child looked up and grinned.  He knew this game.  He drew an "O" in the top left corner.  The man drew an "X" at the top in the middle.  The child drew an "O" in the bottom middle in order to stop the man from winning.............but then the man drew an "X" in the top right corner.  Victory was his.

They played again and again while the adults continued to shout and rage.  Each time the man won the game.  Soon the child became bored of the game and looked at the man with questioning eyes.  The man simply nodded.  He turned to write a few words in the ground with his finger, then he grabbed the child's hand and led him through the crowd until they were free of the throng of people.

It had turned dark by now and so the man turned towards the child and offered him his hand, beckoning him to follow him.  The child grabbed ahold of the man's hand and allowed him to be led towards the lights at the far end of the park.  There beneath the lights the man and the child sat on the swings - seeing who could go higher, who could twist the most times and taking turns pushing one another when their legs grew tired from pumping. 

The shouts and the anger born out of fear seemed to grow more and more distant as the man and the child played.  The child began to tell the man about his family, his life, his school.  The man just listened.  The more quiet the man was, the more animated the child.  Soon he began to share his own fears and worries........and the man listened.  It seemed that no matter what the child said there was no reaction from the man.  He just continued to listen. 

Then another child appeared.

And another.

And another.

And another.

They began to swing and play and have contests.  There was a bit of fighting for attention, fighting for swings, fighting for "the win" but eventually it would get sorted out in the presence of the man who listened and loved well. 

The children began to tire and yawns began to multiply and soon it was time to leave............but there appeared one more child.

The child's head drooped down, their chin touching their chest.  Big tears dropped from their face and yet this child's fist was clenched and when they raised their head, their eyes burned in their face.  There was such rage in those eyes. 

The child's other hand held a gun.

The children froze.

The man stepped forward, shielding the children.  Slowly but without hesitation - his eyes filled with love and his arms open wide - he walked towards the child.............








 

The Bricklayer

The bricklayer shaded his eyes and looked up at the sun.  The temperature continued to rise.  He should have started his work earlier but there were too many things to move - all the possessions he had collected over the years had taken longer to move than he had expected.  

He had started early in the morning and moved his treasures to just outside the city limits.  He stacked them carefully, one on top of the other.  He lovingly wiped off every speck of dust, polished every surface and placed each thing just so.  They would finally be safe.

He got to work.....one brick at a time.

He had spent his life laying brick and could work quickly.  This would be his final job, the pinnacle of his life as a bricklayer.  He was building a tower which would hold him and all his possessions.  He laid each brick with conviction - conviction that he was a success, that he was right, that he would be safe, that.......well, that he was better.

"Whatcha doin', mister?"

Huh?  Who was that?  The bricklayer looked down.  There stood a small boy with dirt on his face and a worn out teddy bear with one eye dangling from his hands. 

"I'm building a tower."

"Whatcha doin' that for?", he asked as he wiped his nose with the back of the hand not holding the teddy bear.

"Kid.  You need to go home.  It's not safe here and it's hot and I need to get this done today.  Go."  That's the problem with the world today....no one taking care of these kids.  Where are this kid's parents?  Who would let him out on this hot day by himself and without any water........HMMPH.

The bricklayer grabbed a bottle of water from his cooler, took a long drink and got back to work.  Just a little while longer now and his tower would be built and he would be safe and his treasures would be safe.

"Hey mister.  I got something for you."

Not again.  Sigh.  The bricklayer looked down.  Both of the boy's hands were now filled - one with the sad-looking teddy bear and the other with a raggedy-looking bouquet of dandelions.  "Kid.  I told you.  GO HOME."

"I just thought you might like these for your fancy dinner table you have in that tower.  It looks kind of empty.....kind of, I don't know.....plain?"

"Sure, kid.  Dandelions.  That's what I need on my table.  Thanks.  Now go on.  Get out of here."  The bricklayer tossed the flowers aside as the boy turned his back and wiped an invisible speck of dirt off of his prized-possession - the Tufft Table.  No dandelions would grace this fine table.  Kids nowadays have no respect, no appreciation for beauty.  He walked back to his work, stepping on the dandelions in his eagerness to get finish his tasks for the day.

Brick after brick was laid.

The tower grew higher as the sun sank lower.  

The bricklayer arched his back and wiped his brow as he stepped back to take a look at his work.

Just another layer and he would be done.  

"Hey, mister.  Looks like you're almost done.......wanna play?"

The bricklayer looked down once more and once more the small boy was back with both hands filled - one with the teddy bear, the other filled with small rocks.

"We can play tic tac toe or throw these to see how far they can go.....there's lots you can do with rocks......so you wanna play after you're done?"

Sigh.  This.  This is what drove the bricklayer to build this tower.  Isn't this kid supposed to be in school?  Where are the parents?  What are these schools doing, anyway? All this kid wants to do is goof around.....hasn't anyone taught his to work or to not talk to strangers?  It's all seemed to be getting out of control and the only thing he could do is to protect what he had.  Once more he waved the boy away and kept building.

The last brick was held in place.  His task was accomplished.  He pulled the cigar out that he bought  the day he started as a bricklayer.  He had dreams even back then  - dreams of proving that he could, he would and now he did.  He had saved it for the day he would lay his last brick and today was that day.      

He allowed himself a moment to sit back and look upon all the accomplishments of his life - all that he had built, all that he had become.  He struck a match and held it to his cigar.   He flicked the burning match to the ground and was about to stamp it out when the flame caught on a dry leaf and then another and another - the heat of the day making everything so very dry....the flames made their way to the tower.  He scrambled from his sitting position but it had been a long day and the bricklayer was older now, his reflexes not so quick.....

The tower door was open......and it seemed to take but a moment.

His brick tower had become a brick oven.......what was meant to keep out, also kept in.

There was nothing to do but to watch his life's work go up in flames.  

He sat back down, tears streaming down his face making tracks in the dirt on his cheeks.  He looked around just wanting to throw something, to hit something, for somewhere to place his rage and anger and sadness and frustration......he scrambled to grab as many rocks as he could to fling at that tower.

"Hey mister. You ok?"

He looked into the eyes of the dirty-faced boy with a hand full of rocks and a teddy bear dangling from the other.

It was as if he was looking in a mirror........a mirror to the past.  And he remembered.  He remembered being that kid.  He remembered the yearning, the discarded gifts, the lonely days, being made to feel small and insignificant.  He remembered that day......buying that cigar and burying that boy deep inside.   That day he became the bricklayer.

He lowered his hand that was full of rocks and wiped the tears from his face.

And as the flames continued to burn and the sun sank in the sky, he asked the small boy:

"Do you want to learn how to build?  I used to do this all the time when I was a kid."

And so by the light of all his possessions the bricklayer and the boy began to build castles and towers as they created a whole other world with their rocks.......just as the bricklayer had done so many times as a small boy.

Only this time he was not alone.