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By:
Calvin E. Prosser We all in our lives feel that we have surmounted tons of circumstances that make us who we are. We of course feel that the things we have gone through have been most rigorous. We discuss these with others and the first teller of life events has no chance, but is outdone one more notch by the one following. Some of us even seem to almost by accident realize that others have gone through difficult things of life like as we, and we listen to their stories with more interest. Others of course seem to never want to give up being "king of the hill". Those of us that want that step forward in understanding have a greater chance toward the wisdom of life. 
What makes a person who they are? What molds their lives into something we call wonderful? Is it not how we react when life throws its most dastardly events in our lives? Are we controlled by these events or do we tke them and make them stepping-stones? |
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Consider this scenario: You go through life and all you know of your childhood are dreams. You grow up thinking you only have a few siblings, and later find out you are one of twenty-three. You think all your life you are adopted, but find out instead that you were sold by your parents. You start to find out the different pieces in your puzzle of life, and you wonder how anyone could have gone through these things and survived. You did more than survive though. Your siblings have found you through years of searching. They talk with you and you come to an understanding of the dreams you had of your childhood. You talk of the run down house where you lived till three. You talk of playing outside with your siblings and neighbors. You talk of the eerie screams that came from inside the house, and why you do not rember screaming yourself, but instead remember playing. You talk of being so hungry so often that it was common to scrape the dirt floor of the house for food. You talk of being beaten until whelps show, and only then were your parents satisfied enough to stop. You talk of begging for food, and when found out by your parents the beatings continued. You find out that as a baby your father rapped you and again when you were three. Those screams begin to take on a deeper understanding. You talk of how your mother was found to be unfit, and your father, not wanting you, sold you: your family was to the four winds scattered. You talk of how they found you after those almost fifty years. You have a family so large that if all were in a house at once there would be no room for the walls. These were some of the things that you added to the other things you already knew you had gone through. You ponder all these things: so many stepping-stones. You never wonder why others treat you with respect, or why they intently see that advice from you is well founded. The portions of your pyramid had made you humble, not able to see yourself in others eyes as someone to be sought for adivce. You are just You. You feel that you are nothing special.
We that see and have gotten past the yarns told to make ourselves bigger than we really are, realize that these events, though they would be devastating to us, are what were used to mold you. One can see how each was taken and added from a wad of dirt to a form of beauty that is cherished not only by the maker, but also by the onlooker.
Who is this Lady I call friend? Just someone that has conquered life through His moldings and makings. Someone in humility that feels so small yet has become a mountain. Someone you can talk with knowing that the understanding that comes forth will guide to wisdom. Someone you feel comfortable sharing your deepiest thoughts, knowing that a hand of comfort is all that will be extended. Truly it would be wonderful that all could be such a one, save that which had been endured. |
