Recently someone approached me with a question that I had never been asked before. He asked, “Are you a jedi, or a sith?” It was posed by someone determining my personality and with my upbringing and interest in the world of Star Wars, I thought I would have confidence in answering the question. When he had me read the code of each order, it provoked a curiosity in me that had me pondering each philosophy intently, causing me to ask myself with real sincerity, am I a Jedi or a Sith?
The jedi mantra reads: “Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force.” One might think the code of the Sith would be the complete opposite, and being the mantra of a power that is put in the light of evil, it would be easy to think so. But in actuality there is truth in its words. It says, “Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.”
I thought long and hard about which philosophy would be more applicable to my life, and the answer I gave him was…both. From what I gather, it didn’t seem like the answer he was hoping for, although he graciously accepted it. But hopefully this will give him a new perspective, because it’s very strange how I came up with the answer in the first place. It took a completely different story to determine where I stand and here’s how it began. As a kindergarten teacher, I study the minds of children every day. I see their innocence and thought process as they face different dilemmas that we teachers purposely give them so they may be well practiced with advanced problems in the future.
Due to a child’s strong curiosity and desire to learn, they forgo consequences because they have yet to discover their existence or importance. That’s why it’s crucial we teach cause and effect at an early age. A basic example of this would be, “If I touch a hot stove, I’ll get burned.” Naturally it is the kind of cause and effect that one can determine on their own through experience. But if they know it beforehand, it will save them from experiencing a great deal of pain, possible deformity and even death. As a nurturer, there are countless lessons I teach to save a child from any kind of pain for various situations. I try so hard to answer the “what if…” questions before a child can take their curiosity and learn the hard way how cruel life can be all because their curiosity needed to be satisfied.
But something I have discovered about human nature over the years is this…curiosity will never be satisfied, and pain will never cease to occur no matter how fast or how far we run from it. The idea is depressing, but it's how we use it and endure it that determines the outcome. As we go through life, we never accomplish a challenge just once. In fact we face the same predicaments over and over again, but with different perspectives as we grow from childhood to adulthood. Many think that our choices determine our futures, and in many ways it does. But there will always be outside forces changing our fate where we didn’t ask for them. To emphasize this, one day I decided to go for a walk. The next thing I know I’m waking up in the emergency room because a man ran a stop sign and didn’t see me crossing his path. That night I had no intention of satisfying any curiosity. I already knew if I didn’t look both ways crossing a street, I could be severely injured. I even used the cross walk and simply believed the driver understood the cause and effect: If I break a law, someone could get hurt. I put a lot of faith in trust in him to respect that rule, and ended up suffering the consequences of someone else’s mistake. I could have chosen to hate him and bask in the resentment I once had for him. But by choosing forgiveness, I was able to recognize the blessings that came from it. One: I got a great settlment that paid for all my medical bills and my new car. Two: There are no lasting effects from my injuries. And three: I have a feeling the driver learned a lesson about cause and effect. Perhaps if he didn't, fate would have put in him the same situation and the person he hit wouldn't have survived.
As children, we believe our choices only affect us. But the older we get, the more people who surround us receive the consequences of our actions. To determine my initial answer, I stopped looking into the world of George Lucas and dove into the world established by Lewis Carroll. He was the author of the famous stories, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. Because Walt Disney has forced us to look at the story with his perspective, we don’t read too much into it. We forget the original story, why it was written or what it could possibly mean.
The story of Alice is based on a real little girl Lewis Carroll met in reality. One day he noticed her boredom and told her a story for entertainment. Enthralled by it, she asked him to write it down and he agreed. But as soon as Carroll became inspired, he decided to create a longer version and was determined to have the world hear it. I often wonder what inspired him and where the drive to have it published came from, especially when it contains so many morals, riddles and nonsense. And today no one really knows what it means. But because I can’t ask him myself, through my experiences, I’ve developed my own interpretation, for it is truly the best example that can describe how my life started and who I am today.
Alice is obviously the protagonist in the story. She is a child with a strong sense of curiosity that leads her to a world of wonder and adventure. She understands emotion, but finds peace in all things. She is very ignorant, but seeks knowledge. She knows passion exists in some form or another, but doesn’t fully understand it, therefore remains serene. She unknowingly enters into a world of chaos, and treats it as a place of harmony. Death will be inevitable, but life is worth fighting for. Because she is so young, this is what curiosity teaches her. But remember...this is a childlike perspective. Her future is undetermined, but because it's a story, we simply don't dwell on it. The same goes for the Queen of Hearts. Because she is the villian, we don't care about how she came into power. No one knows what kind of life she lived or why she is called The Queen of Hearts. We know now that every tortured soul has a past. What was hers?
The color she possesses symbolizes power, heated emotion and passion. With that passion, she has gained strength and dominance. With that dominance, she gains victory. And with every victory, her chains are broken. But what chains tied the queen down to evoke that thirst for power—the bloodlust or obsession with control? In the world of Star Wars, Yoda explains, “Fear leads to anger; anger leads to hate; hate leads to suffering.” The Queen ordered the beheading of many subjects, but what provoked the initial fear? Why would she hate white roses—a flower that symbolizes innocence and purity? Could it be her innocence was taken from her? Could it be she wants to punish the one who took it, but can’t so she punishes everyone else? This story started out with Alice entering wonderland through a mirror and onto a field, which happened to be a giant chessboard. Why would a queen be so determined to win a game unless she had been beaten or “played” by others in her past?
The way I see it, both Alice and the Queen are the exact same person. We all should know by now that our worst enemies are our darkest selves. Curiosity in the age of innocence can lead us down dark paths. As Alice looked in the mirror, she was seeing the result of “curiosity killed the cat”. Like many, I didn't have an ideal childhood, but my parents worked very hard to mask the truth of what I was surrounded by every day for the sake of my happiness. I am grateful to them for that, but as I entered wonderland with confidence and excitement, I made impulsive decisions, putting much faith and trust in the questionable characters that surrounded me and ended up in a lot of emotional, mental and physical pain. Yes, I had been warned, but our curiosity changes as we get older. I ended up being betrayed, lied to, toyed with… Needless to say once I reached maturity, I met a lot of men who tried to take advantage of my innocence and ignorance. They didn't succeed, but they all took a piece of my heart with them. I was determined to crawl out of that pit of naivety and by doing so I discovered the truth my parents had shielded me from. I realized my life was a lot darker than I thought it was. But more importantly, I didn't respond to it well. And once I stared into the looking glass and magnified my anger, vengeance and lust for control soon followed. I wanted nothing more than to dominate the hearts who broke mine, for Hell hath no fury than a woman scorned.
Once I recognized where my curiosity had taken me, I was determined to wake up from the nightmare I got myself into like Alice did. Notice that the Jedi code includes passion, but beside it stands serenity. That means passion is not a bad thing; it is possible to obtain it, yet own it with a peace of mind so it may add more order and peace to one’s everyday life. Power is selfish and doesn’t like to be shared. If I am struggling to gain it, how can I peacefully share it with a man who is determined to have that same power? How can I not be blinded by the fact that by freeing my own chains, I am throwing them on someone else? That is exactly what my oppressors had done to me. By gaining power, I am becoming the very thing I hated. I realize now why I was born a nurturer. The Force knew I would be faced with such a predicament and my love for innocence is what’s keeping the balance. But how can I find true redemption? Is it even possible to change my way of thinking?
Darth Vader answered this question during his last few moments of life. He had chosen the dark side and destroyed many lives for the sake of power. But it was watching his son suffer that encouraged him to find redemption and help restore peace by letting go the part of himself that he feared to lose.
So to the man who asked, “Are you a Jedi, or a Sith?” I pose the same question to you. Whatever your answer, I leave you with a few words of advice regarding your situation. Don't be a King of Hearts. If a woman is made to feel like she is taking a risk; compromising herself for the sake of curiosity, then there's a greater chance you'll meet your match and find yourself facing a mad woman shouting, "Off with your head!" Also remember, to be a Jedi is to be selfless. Once a woman recognizes your willingness to sacrifice the ways of the world, there is no need for to you have to take her heart like mine had been taken from me. Rather, she will entrust it to you freely, and you will find a greater peace amidst the passion you seek.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Thursday, June 20, 2013
The Glassmaker
Amidst a city of struggle, anguish and noise, I longed for seclusion—a place I could find respite and feel completely at peace. Desperate to get away, I packed my things and moved to the countryside. I found a place where the grass grows tall. The trees stretch their roots where they choose. The wind blows through the wind chimes as if nature were singing to me. The sun warms my skin and makes me feel alive and comforted. The home I was to live in was small. The wood was rotting in a few places and creaking in others. The windows were broken, glass hanging off its panes. Dust covered the old furniture. It hadn’t been decently cleaned in ages and the smell of decay lingered in the stagnant atmosphere.
I sighed and looked around, determined to make this place a home, but completely unsure of how to do it. I had all the time in the world, and so I got to work. What else was I going to do? And so, with the little money I had, I bought a scrub brush, a bucket and a bit of soap. It didn’t accomplish much, but it was a start. After all, I had only my feminine/inexperienced hands to work with. I managed to remove most of the dirt and breaking out the remaining shards of glass allowed the air to flow freely between rooms.
Eventually the room smelled fresh, to say the least. There was no cellar or attic, but a small room that was padlocked on the side of the house. There was no key, but I was resolute in seeing what was inside. There was a sledgehammer propped up next to it, and so I attempted to break the door handle. After a few blows, the lock relented and swung open to reveal a small tool shed. I didn’t know what to do with them until it rained heavily that night, exposing the weak areas in the house—water filling up all my pots and pans scattered in random places.
When the sun finally returned, I walked to the lumberyard and found all that I needed to rebuild what was broken. This had to be done a little at a time, for it was a lot of back breaking work for just one, young woman to do by herself. But progress was being made. Eventually the house was weatherproof and I slept during the next rainstorm, pleased to find everything dry the next morning. Of course, the temperature was another thing to consider. I had to find glass for the window panes and the wood was still out of shape. The cold, night air sent me into shivering fits every now and then, and I figured it was time to do something about it.
I walked down the road a few miles and found a nearby garden. It seemed well tended to, similar to my own with vegetables, fruit trees and berry bushes. It belonged to the house next to it, which was better off than my own. What seemed very odd was how absent it was of any wild flowers. As if the owner of this home purposely cut them away or the flowers didn’t enjoy his company and rooted elsewhere. The man who dwelled inside came out and I kept walking like a passerby pretending not to notice him—but notice, I certainly did. It was hard not to. He seemed very young for his age, but old enough to be married and possibly have a couple of young ones running around somewhere. But this wasn’t a place where kids grew up and curiosity got the best of me.
I followed the man, who had just entered his large shed and knocked on the door. Immediately I felt silly, prying into someone’s life based off a small spark of fascination and expected the worst. But the voice on the other end yelled for me to come inside and I did so.
“What can I do for you today?” he asked, as I slowly entered and saw him facing a desk with tools and glass of all shapes, sizes and colors. I was dumbfounded at first, surprised that he would act so casual over a stranger standing in his domain. But I quickly noticed the furnace and shelves of his creations that put it all into perspective.
“You’re a glassmaker,” I said.
He finally turned around to look at me, undaunted by my presence, but a small, amused smile hinted on his face. “Yes, I am,” he replied. “Is there something you need?” I tried so hard to respond, but my breath caught and my body started to shake. He waited patiently, completely unaffected by my uneasiness for this man was not only an answer to some kind of prayer, but he was quite pleasing to look upon. With handsome features like his, it was a huge wonder why he would be living here alone. But like the bumbling idiot I am, I could only manage a few words at a time.
“I need some windows.”
“Okay…” he dragged, silently implying he needed more information than that if he was to help me. I finally managed to explain my predicament and he seemed less focused on the windows and more interested in hearing how I managed to rebuild a place that was abandoned for years, alone.
Needing the window’s measurements, he walked with me to my house and had a good look at it. By his expression, he seemed impressed by my work, but did point out some critical errors. I was a little defensive, but listened intently on his suggestions and he made a few valid points. “You have a solid foundation. It’s just weak in certain areas.”
“Could you fix it?” I asked, hopeful that he would and was completely delighted when he agreed to do so.
After taking his measurements, he glanced over at my front porch and scowled in confusion. “Why on earth do you have all those pots?” he asked.
Slightly entertained by his lack of interest in growing things for reasons other than sustaining one’s stomach, I happily replied, “For my flowers.” He grinned slightly and shook his head, walking away without another word. It was clear he had something against them and I was now determined to find out why.
Over the next few weeks, I saw very little of him. He kept to himself or at least away from me and I began to grow discouraged. Even though our conversations were sparse, I craved his company. When he told me my windows were ready, I eagerly yet nervously came by to pick them up. For whatever reason he was very talkative that day, as if I was more of a friend than just another customer. We talked, laughed and enjoyed the afternoon. He showed me the fundamentals of his business and I was quite impressed with his work. Once again, I was astonished how a man like him could still be living alone. Contentment, I guessed. After all, this man had something against flowers. Not that that had anything to do with it, but it felt like it factored somehow.
After making some finishing touches, he installed the windows and I couldn’t have been more pleased. I asked what I owed him and he looked shocked that I would suggest such a thing. Casually, he picked up his belongings and simply said, “I don’t take money from friends.” My heart soared at the sentiment, but I couldn’t possibly let him go to all that trouble and not have some sort of repayment. He left before I could argue and during the following weeks I slept better, feeling the warmth the windows provided at night, and the breeze during the day.
Now I finally had the incentive to put up curtains and readied my flower pots with soil. The season was just right for planting, but I had nothing left to obtain the seeds I wanted. Sure, I could get the second hand seeds. They were cheaper and easier to come by, but they lacked all that I wanted and needed. I knew in my heart I could easily nature them. All it took was love, water and sunshine. I didn’t mind getting my hands dirty and pulling the weeds that would threaten to choke them. My mother taught me well and I was more than capable, but few believed in my talents. It seemed like the glassmaker doubted as well, but didn’t acknowledge it to spare my feelings. Over time I thought of him often, during which the wild flowers underneath my kitchen window began to bloom bright and beautifully. Every now and then I’d admire them, but still longed for the flowers I had yet to plant.
As the summer dragged on, I saw less of him, making attempts here and there to capture his attention, but they were all short lived. Eventually I gave up all hope of ever seeing him again. I looked up in the sky then. Threatening clouds were forming and the wind chimes told me something bad was soon to happen. I attempted to prepare myself, but I wasn’t sure what I was preparing myself for. I left the house, knowing it wasn’t safe to stay there. I ran towards civilization, hoping to find shelter for the upcoming storm. The townspeople were less worried than I was. They had everything they needed. I noticed a familiar face there with me. He acknowledged my existence with a smile, but left quickly without any concern whatsoever. I wondered why until I saw the girl who accompanied him. The glassmaker had someone to shelter the storm with and wouldn’t be facing the disaster alone. In that moment, the hail began to fall and I crowded in the storm cellar with a dozen faceless people, frightened and unaware of my existence for they all had each other and I had no one.
The sun shone again and I returned to my house, completely brokenhearted for I had come back to find the worst. The tornado hadn’t hit my area, but alas my pots were destroyed and all my beautiful windows completely shattered. I stood in my living room, knowing I should have been pleased to see that the walls and roof stayed intact, but nevertheless sorrowful not having a shoulder to cry on. Instead, I sobbed into my hands until my eyes hurt.
I walked around the house, identifying as much damage as I could and saw one flower tucked away behind a loose board. The roots were still firm in the foundation and the petals thrived despite the rough elements it was exposed to. It had the same determination, just as I once had. And right then and there the decision was made—that flower’s struggle for life was not going to be in vain. With the one flower pot I had left, I placed the small bluebonnet in the surviving soil and proceeded to clean up the glass pieces...one by one.
PART TWO
The winter that ensued was long and bitter. I couldn’t leave my house and the silence was deafening. With the work of the glassmaker destroyed, all I could do was board up the windows and hope that the mediocre job I did would hold against the frost and wind. With the world blanketed with a quilt of white, the only color I managed to save was the bluebonnet that somehow continued to thrive in the small pot on my windowsill. It stood in front of a broken piece of glass I shrewdly insulated with mud and clay between its edges and the edges of the windowpane.
When the snow ceased to fall and spring become more evident, all simple cares and worries ceased to exist in my mind as I breathed in the air of new life. I don’t acknowledge the existence of the glassmaker’s home, but only the warmth of the sun as my body slowly absorbed its rays. I closed my eyes, standing still as I felt myself coming back to life. And then a voice rang through my ears, piercing my heart enough to weaken my ability to keep myself standing.
I turn, knowing already the person who has spoken, but I’m somehow still startled to see the glassmaker coming toward me. We stand in the middle in the middle of the road, the snow still slush at our feet, the wind still chilling to the skin, but neither of us notice as we stare into familiar eyes.
We sense each other’s hesitancy is finding the right thing to say, but finally he says, “How are you doing?”
A thousand words lingering on the edge of my tongue, but the only thing that seemed fitting to say was, “I need some windows.”
When is face fell, combined with confliction in his eyes, I feared I had made a mistake. “I don’t make windows anymore...,” he said, a hint of discouragement in his tone, and I made effort to hide my disappointment. But to my surprise, his smile returned as he said, “But for you...I'll see what I can do.”
As the melting of the ice commenced and new life sprouting from the earth ensued, I found myself in the glassmaker's workshop. Having been there once in the past, I didn’t anticipate noticing a difference in how the room was kept. Like my own home, the structure had been damaged, but he had done well to repair it so one could reside there comfortably. Most of the ornate and colorful glass pieces he once had on the shelves were absent. It was clear it had nothing to do with the summer storm—that something else was amiss.
“What happened to all your glass figures?” I ask him as he readied the furnace.
“They were stolen,” he said matter of factly.
“Stolen? By who?” I exclaim.
With a heavy, sorrowful sigh, he answered, “By someone whose name I do not wish to speak.”
Confused, I thought to inquire further, but hearing the vehemence in his voice, thought better to keep out of his business. Thankfully I didn’t have to struggle with that thought for long when his voice softened as he continued to elaborate, comfortable enough to share his feelings. And what I learned was heartbreaking. The girl I had seen the day the storm hit had turned out be someone he deeply cared for as I had expected. Unfortunately her feelings were falsely reciprocated and she left him, taking with her all the beautiful glass sculptures he worked so hard to create. Since then he rebuilt what the storm destroyed, but had little to no motivation to rebuild his dream.
Over the course of the following weeks, I saw the glassmaker often. I’d keep him company while I learned the art of his skill, most of the time just talking about our lives as I admired his work. He came to my home as well, once again to install the windows I asked for, but other times just to talk and laugh about trivial things. One day in particular, we sat together and he motioned towards the windowsill.
“You only have one flower,” he said, remembering the numerous pots I once had scattered around my home.
“It was the one flower that survived the storm last year.”
“You kept it alive this whole time?”
“Obviously,” I chuckled. “I keep it to remind me of my dream—to fill every pot with as many colorful flowers as I can get.”
“And you think that dream will become a reality?”
“I know it will. It won’t be easy with the little means I have, but why give up on something good and important to me?”
The glassmaker went home with a thoughtful expression that day. I knew what I said was food for thought and my heart went out to him. As much as I wanted to see myself as the woman in his life, I wanted more to see him well and happy in the place fate wanted him to be. Not knowing if his own heart would be opened enough to receive the message, on a day I knew he would be out, I took my little bluebonnet and placed it on the desk in his workshop. Next to it, I left and note and hoped for the best.
A week went by with no word from him. It was discouraging to say the least, feeling hopelessly rejected amidst all that was happening. I spent most of my time doing the work around my home that had been neglected during the winter. There was much that needed to be done and it made me feel strong knowing how to do such work independently. But even though the windows were replaced, I lacked the motivation to open the curtains at all during the day. I missed my friend terribly and I feared that my inability to keep my heart closed had cut him off from me forever.
It was one morning when I awoke to the musty smell of dust that gathered on them that I decided it was time to clean them off. For a closer inspection, I drew open one set of curtains to the most shocking sight of my life. In the once empty flower bed that hung outside on the sill contained array of the brightest and most beautiful flowers I had ever seen. Curious, I kept opening the windows to see the same thing, only differences in types of flowers that were planted.
Uncaring of my state of dress, I threw open the door to the most wonderful sight of all. On the wooden porch were pots of different shapes and sizes, all filled with daises, roses, sunflowers, tulips, peonies, azaleas, snapdragons, pansies and other flowers I couldn’t put a name to. Tears immediately sprang to my eyes. But it wasn’t the flowers that caused my emotion, but the man standing the lane. He looked tired and worn, obviously having done this work himself, but his eyes shimmered with same light and color that surrounded my home.
When I didn’t say anything, he slowly approached my doorway, carrying a wadded cloth in his hands and a note in the other.
“It says…,” he began, “it just takes water, sunshine…and love. However little it may be, it will always bring you happiness.” He stepped forward, closing the distance between us so I was now looking up into his eyes. “That small flower was your entire world, wasn’t it? All the love you put into it…you gave to me?”
I nodded, blinking back more tears. That’s when he held out the wadded cloth, opening it to reveal something I had never seen before. It was a flower made entirely of glass, an assortment of colors swirled into intricate designs on the crystal-like petals. “I made it from all that I had left over. It’s not much, but it’s my entire world…and I couldn’t think of anyone more deserving of it…than you. And I hope,” he said, gesturing to the garden that surrounded them, “that with all the love you and I both have combined…our happiness will never stop growing. You brought me back to life.”
“And you fixed my shattered heart.”
“And I will see that it is never broken again.”
I closed my eyes as I felt myself being held in the glassmaker’s arms, his lips pressing against my own, and all at once my world had changed. My house had once been weathered and run down, the windows broken and shattered almost beyond repair, and I relied on no one but myself to fix it all until one man came into my life. Now the foundation is solid and strong, light can now shine to illuminate the darkness, and new life and color adorned the empty spaces to bring love and happiness into my heart.
With the shared love of a gardener and a glassmaker…no longer was this place just a house. It was a home.
I sighed and looked around, determined to make this place a home, but completely unsure of how to do it. I had all the time in the world, and so I got to work. What else was I going to do? And so, with the little money I had, I bought a scrub brush, a bucket and a bit of soap. It didn’t accomplish much, but it was a start. After all, I had only my feminine/inexperienced hands to work with. I managed to remove most of the dirt and breaking out the remaining shards of glass allowed the air to flow freely between rooms.
Eventually the room smelled fresh, to say the least. There was no cellar or attic, but a small room that was padlocked on the side of the house. There was no key, but I was resolute in seeing what was inside. There was a sledgehammer propped up next to it, and so I attempted to break the door handle. After a few blows, the lock relented and swung open to reveal a small tool shed. I didn’t know what to do with them until it rained heavily that night, exposing the weak areas in the house—water filling up all my pots and pans scattered in random places.
When the sun finally returned, I walked to the lumberyard and found all that I needed to rebuild what was broken. This had to be done a little at a time, for it was a lot of back breaking work for just one, young woman to do by herself. But progress was being made. Eventually the house was weatherproof and I slept during the next rainstorm, pleased to find everything dry the next morning. Of course, the temperature was another thing to consider. I had to find glass for the window panes and the wood was still out of shape. The cold, night air sent me into shivering fits every now and then, and I figured it was time to do something about it.
I walked down the road a few miles and found a nearby garden. It seemed well tended to, similar to my own with vegetables, fruit trees and berry bushes. It belonged to the house next to it, which was better off than my own. What seemed very odd was how absent it was of any wild flowers. As if the owner of this home purposely cut them away or the flowers didn’t enjoy his company and rooted elsewhere. The man who dwelled inside came out and I kept walking like a passerby pretending not to notice him—but notice, I certainly did. It was hard not to. He seemed very young for his age, but old enough to be married and possibly have a couple of young ones running around somewhere. But this wasn’t a place where kids grew up and curiosity got the best of me.
I followed the man, who had just entered his large shed and knocked on the door. Immediately I felt silly, prying into someone’s life based off a small spark of fascination and expected the worst. But the voice on the other end yelled for me to come inside and I did so.
“What can I do for you today?” he asked, as I slowly entered and saw him facing a desk with tools and glass of all shapes, sizes and colors. I was dumbfounded at first, surprised that he would act so casual over a stranger standing in his domain. But I quickly noticed the furnace and shelves of his creations that put it all into perspective.
“You’re a glassmaker,” I said.
He finally turned around to look at me, undaunted by my presence, but a small, amused smile hinted on his face. “Yes, I am,” he replied. “Is there something you need?” I tried so hard to respond, but my breath caught and my body started to shake. He waited patiently, completely unaffected by my uneasiness for this man was not only an answer to some kind of prayer, but he was quite pleasing to look upon. With handsome features like his, it was a huge wonder why he would be living here alone. But like the bumbling idiot I am, I could only manage a few words at a time.
“I need some windows.”
“Okay…” he dragged, silently implying he needed more information than that if he was to help me. I finally managed to explain my predicament and he seemed less focused on the windows and more interested in hearing how I managed to rebuild a place that was abandoned for years, alone.
Needing the window’s measurements, he walked with me to my house and had a good look at it. By his expression, he seemed impressed by my work, but did point out some critical errors. I was a little defensive, but listened intently on his suggestions and he made a few valid points. “You have a solid foundation. It’s just weak in certain areas.”
“Could you fix it?” I asked, hopeful that he would and was completely delighted when he agreed to do so.
After taking his measurements, he glanced over at my front porch and scowled in confusion. “Why on earth do you have all those pots?” he asked.
Slightly entertained by his lack of interest in growing things for reasons other than sustaining one’s stomach, I happily replied, “For my flowers.” He grinned slightly and shook his head, walking away without another word. It was clear he had something against them and I was now determined to find out why.
Over the next few weeks, I saw very little of him. He kept to himself or at least away from me and I began to grow discouraged. Even though our conversations were sparse, I craved his company. When he told me my windows were ready, I eagerly yet nervously came by to pick them up. For whatever reason he was very talkative that day, as if I was more of a friend than just another customer. We talked, laughed and enjoyed the afternoon. He showed me the fundamentals of his business and I was quite impressed with his work. Once again, I was astonished how a man like him could still be living alone. Contentment, I guessed. After all, this man had something against flowers. Not that that had anything to do with it, but it felt like it factored somehow.
After making some finishing touches, he installed the windows and I couldn’t have been more pleased. I asked what I owed him and he looked shocked that I would suggest such a thing. Casually, he picked up his belongings and simply said, “I don’t take money from friends.” My heart soared at the sentiment, but I couldn’t possibly let him go to all that trouble and not have some sort of repayment. He left before I could argue and during the following weeks I slept better, feeling the warmth the windows provided at night, and the breeze during the day.
Now I finally had the incentive to put up curtains and readied my flower pots with soil. The season was just right for planting, but I had nothing left to obtain the seeds I wanted. Sure, I could get the second hand seeds. They were cheaper and easier to come by, but they lacked all that I wanted and needed. I knew in my heart I could easily nature them. All it took was love, water and sunshine. I didn’t mind getting my hands dirty and pulling the weeds that would threaten to choke them. My mother taught me well and I was more than capable, but few believed in my talents. It seemed like the glassmaker doubted as well, but didn’t acknowledge it to spare my feelings. Over time I thought of him often, during which the wild flowers underneath my kitchen window began to bloom bright and beautifully. Every now and then I’d admire them, but still longed for the flowers I had yet to plant.
As the summer dragged on, I saw less of him, making attempts here and there to capture his attention, but they were all short lived. Eventually I gave up all hope of ever seeing him again. I looked up in the sky then. Threatening clouds were forming and the wind chimes told me something bad was soon to happen. I attempted to prepare myself, but I wasn’t sure what I was preparing myself for. I left the house, knowing it wasn’t safe to stay there. I ran towards civilization, hoping to find shelter for the upcoming storm. The townspeople were less worried than I was. They had everything they needed. I noticed a familiar face there with me. He acknowledged my existence with a smile, but left quickly without any concern whatsoever. I wondered why until I saw the girl who accompanied him. The glassmaker had someone to shelter the storm with and wouldn’t be facing the disaster alone. In that moment, the hail began to fall and I crowded in the storm cellar with a dozen faceless people, frightened and unaware of my existence for they all had each other and I had no one.
The sun shone again and I returned to my house, completely brokenhearted for I had come back to find the worst. The tornado hadn’t hit my area, but alas my pots were destroyed and all my beautiful windows completely shattered. I stood in my living room, knowing I should have been pleased to see that the walls and roof stayed intact, but nevertheless sorrowful not having a shoulder to cry on. Instead, I sobbed into my hands until my eyes hurt.
I walked around the house, identifying as much damage as I could and saw one flower tucked away behind a loose board. The roots were still firm in the foundation and the petals thrived despite the rough elements it was exposed to. It had the same determination, just as I once had. And right then and there the decision was made—that flower’s struggle for life was not going to be in vain. With the one flower pot I had left, I placed the small bluebonnet in the surviving soil and proceeded to clean up the glass pieces...one by one.
PART TWO
The winter that ensued was long and bitter. I couldn’t leave my house and the silence was deafening. With the work of the glassmaker destroyed, all I could do was board up the windows and hope that the mediocre job I did would hold against the frost and wind. With the world blanketed with a quilt of white, the only color I managed to save was the bluebonnet that somehow continued to thrive in the small pot on my windowsill. It stood in front of a broken piece of glass I shrewdly insulated with mud and clay between its edges and the edges of the windowpane.
When the snow ceased to fall and spring become more evident, all simple cares and worries ceased to exist in my mind as I breathed in the air of new life. I don’t acknowledge the existence of the glassmaker’s home, but only the warmth of the sun as my body slowly absorbed its rays. I closed my eyes, standing still as I felt myself coming back to life. And then a voice rang through my ears, piercing my heart enough to weaken my ability to keep myself standing.
I turn, knowing already the person who has spoken, but I’m somehow still startled to see the glassmaker coming toward me. We stand in the middle in the middle of the road, the snow still slush at our feet, the wind still chilling to the skin, but neither of us notice as we stare into familiar eyes.
We sense each other’s hesitancy is finding the right thing to say, but finally he says, “How are you doing?”
A thousand words lingering on the edge of my tongue, but the only thing that seemed fitting to say was, “I need some windows.”
When is face fell, combined with confliction in his eyes, I feared I had made a mistake. “I don’t make windows anymore...,” he said, a hint of discouragement in his tone, and I made effort to hide my disappointment. But to my surprise, his smile returned as he said, “But for you...I'll see what I can do.”
As the melting of the ice commenced and new life sprouting from the earth ensued, I found myself in the glassmaker's workshop. Having been there once in the past, I didn’t anticipate noticing a difference in how the room was kept. Like my own home, the structure had been damaged, but he had done well to repair it so one could reside there comfortably. Most of the ornate and colorful glass pieces he once had on the shelves were absent. It was clear it had nothing to do with the summer storm—that something else was amiss.
“What happened to all your glass figures?” I ask him as he readied the furnace.
“They were stolen,” he said matter of factly.
“Stolen? By who?” I exclaim.
With a heavy, sorrowful sigh, he answered, “By someone whose name I do not wish to speak.”
Confused, I thought to inquire further, but hearing the vehemence in his voice, thought better to keep out of his business. Thankfully I didn’t have to struggle with that thought for long when his voice softened as he continued to elaborate, comfortable enough to share his feelings. And what I learned was heartbreaking. The girl I had seen the day the storm hit had turned out be someone he deeply cared for as I had expected. Unfortunately her feelings were falsely reciprocated and she left him, taking with her all the beautiful glass sculptures he worked so hard to create. Since then he rebuilt what the storm destroyed, but had little to no motivation to rebuild his dream.
Over the course of the following weeks, I saw the glassmaker often. I’d keep him company while I learned the art of his skill, most of the time just talking about our lives as I admired his work. He came to my home as well, once again to install the windows I asked for, but other times just to talk and laugh about trivial things. One day in particular, we sat together and he motioned towards the windowsill.
“You only have one flower,” he said, remembering the numerous pots I once had scattered around my home.
“It was the one flower that survived the storm last year.”
“You kept it alive this whole time?”
“Obviously,” I chuckled. “I keep it to remind me of my dream—to fill every pot with as many colorful flowers as I can get.”
“And you think that dream will become a reality?”
“I know it will. It won’t be easy with the little means I have, but why give up on something good and important to me?”
The glassmaker went home with a thoughtful expression that day. I knew what I said was food for thought and my heart went out to him. As much as I wanted to see myself as the woman in his life, I wanted more to see him well and happy in the place fate wanted him to be. Not knowing if his own heart would be opened enough to receive the message, on a day I knew he would be out, I took my little bluebonnet and placed it on the desk in his workshop. Next to it, I left and note and hoped for the best.
A week went by with no word from him. It was discouraging to say the least, feeling hopelessly rejected amidst all that was happening. I spent most of my time doing the work around my home that had been neglected during the winter. There was much that needed to be done and it made me feel strong knowing how to do such work independently. But even though the windows were replaced, I lacked the motivation to open the curtains at all during the day. I missed my friend terribly and I feared that my inability to keep my heart closed had cut him off from me forever.
It was one morning when I awoke to the musty smell of dust that gathered on them that I decided it was time to clean them off. For a closer inspection, I drew open one set of curtains to the most shocking sight of my life. In the once empty flower bed that hung outside on the sill contained array of the brightest and most beautiful flowers I had ever seen. Curious, I kept opening the windows to see the same thing, only differences in types of flowers that were planted.
Uncaring of my state of dress, I threw open the door to the most wonderful sight of all. On the wooden porch were pots of different shapes and sizes, all filled with daises, roses, sunflowers, tulips, peonies, azaleas, snapdragons, pansies and other flowers I couldn’t put a name to. Tears immediately sprang to my eyes. But it wasn’t the flowers that caused my emotion, but the man standing the lane. He looked tired and worn, obviously having done this work himself, but his eyes shimmered with same light and color that surrounded my home.
When I didn’t say anything, he slowly approached my doorway, carrying a wadded cloth in his hands and a note in the other.
“It says…,” he began, “it just takes water, sunshine…and love. However little it may be, it will always bring you happiness.” He stepped forward, closing the distance between us so I was now looking up into his eyes. “That small flower was your entire world, wasn’t it? All the love you put into it…you gave to me?”
I nodded, blinking back more tears. That’s when he held out the wadded cloth, opening it to reveal something I had never seen before. It was a flower made entirely of glass, an assortment of colors swirled into intricate designs on the crystal-like petals. “I made it from all that I had left over. It’s not much, but it’s my entire world…and I couldn’t think of anyone more deserving of it…than you. And I hope,” he said, gesturing to the garden that surrounded them, “that with all the love you and I both have combined…our happiness will never stop growing. You brought me back to life.”
“And you fixed my shattered heart.”
“And I will see that it is never broken again.”
I closed my eyes as I felt myself being held in the glassmaker’s arms, his lips pressing against my own, and all at once my world had changed. My house had once been weathered and run down, the windows broken and shattered almost beyond repair, and I relied on no one but myself to fix it all until one man came into my life. Now the foundation is solid and strong, light can now shine to illuminate the darkness, and new life and color adorned the empty spaces to bring love and happiness into my heart.
With the shared love of a gardener and a glassmaker…no longer was this place just a house. It was a home.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Wishes of the Heart
The tide pushed and pulled as old man, Timothy Brown, walked along the pools, searching the shallow water for sea life amidst the rocks. Tim’s intentions were always the same during his walks. He never searched for anything of value, save the thoughts of precious moments in his early days. His memories were all he had now. He thought he had his profession as a fisherman, but something about nature changed. Fish weren’t as abundant as they once were. The weather was lifeless, so traveling on the rickety boat that had endured years of expeditions was out of the question.
But Tim’s life wasn’t always fixed on the life as a fisherman. At sixteen, Tim came from the monotonous life as a worker from the south. His father walked out on his family shortly after he was born, leaving him to care for his mother and younger brother during their times of poverty. Despite their troubles, Tim always felt blessed during that time. Being a white man amongst the slaves, he was shown more kindness than others. However, he never believed people should be treated better than another because of their skin color. Hence, as he got older, he became a Yankee soldier and fought for their freedom.
While dwelling in a trench somewhere on enemy soil, his mother caught a fatal illness. Tim came home a broken man to the news of becoming an orphan and his brother having fled to Texas due to some trouble he had with the law. Knowing he had nothing left, he took what earnings he received from the war and travelled north, mourning his mother and angry with his brother for ruining the family name.
Tim stopped suddenly, remembering the day he arrived with nothing but his name and the clothes on his back. He was walking on the very shore when he met the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She was searching the tide pools just as he was, marveling at the sea shells she was finding. She had long hair she refused to cut, eyes that sparkled like the sunset on the water, and a clean soul unmarked by the ugliness of the war. He passed her; too shy to say anything until she approached him.
He will always remember the first thing she said to him.
“Did you know there’s a legend of a magic starfish that resides in one of these tide pools?” she asked.
Astonished that she was speaking to him, he replied with a simple, “No.”
She smiled at him and said, “It’s said that if you find it, you get three wishes. And it has to be something you can see, hear and touch. If you were to find it, what would you wish for?”
Tim had no real answer for her except, “Nothing.”
She was puzzled and he continued with, “I can’t take any worldly possessions with me when I die, except for the ones I love. Last I checked, one cannot see, hear or touch love.” She seemed to agree, but only smiled as if she knew something he didn’t.
He married that girl, completely surprised someone like her could ever love a man like him. After many years of blissful happiness, he finally asked her, “Why me?”
“The day I met you,” she said, “I found the star fish. I wished...for the perfect man to love me. It was only moments later when I saw you, I heard you speak and I eventually felt your loving touch. You are mine and now you always will be. Who says one cannot wish for love?”
He then asked, “What about your other wishes?”
“Didn't need them,” she shrugged. “I have all that I ever wanted and will ever need.”
Smiling at the memory, Tim’s eyes misted at the wonderful years he spent with her, the three sons they had, and simply living life without fear or sadness. But now, his empty heart began to ache knowing he'll spend the rest of his days without his wife—having passed away one year ago today, he missed her with every fiber of his being and was quite lonely. His sons had moved on with their lives. He hadn't seen or spoken to his brother since he left for battle, and now lived with the only ambition of one day being reunited with wife after death. He knew the day would be soon and she had lived a fulfilling life. But he still worried for his children.
Despite how hard he tried to teach them, each of the three faced a certain challenge that he tried so hard to provide wisdom for. However, his council was everything short of a quick fix and none were interested to hear what he had to say. As he wandered along the beach, he came upon a deep pool and stared into its depths. Instantly his sight was caught by a brilliantly colored starfish with curling tendrils and reflected the light of the overcast sky. At that moment, he closed his eyes and made three wishes...
***
The three sons all stood around the lawyer in a private room where he read their father’s will. Each waited to hear what they would receive, but knew already it wouldn’t be much. Their father had always been a humble man with no intentions to spoil his children.
The Lawyer was a family friend, so propriety was replaced with a more casual tone. “Each of you were given something considered very precious to your father. He had one wish for each of you and asks you to treasure it dearly. To the oldest, Thomas Brown...your father wanted you to have this,” he said, presenting him with an antique fishing hook. “To the second oldest, Lucas Brown, you are to receive this…” He then presented him with a small, satin ribbon. “And to the youngest, Jonathan Brown, this is for you,” he told him, giving him an empty bullet casing.
All received a small envelope that each were to read in solitude. None spoke a word as all walked out of the building. With endearing goodbyes, they each went their separate ways with their small tokens from their departed father and a set of instructions they would soon discover.
PART TWO
After being presented with the "inheritance" his father left him, Thomas stared at the fishing hook in his hand as he walked down the sidewalk in the salty-aired coast of Maine. He hadn't been home in years. He finished school, left and never looked back...until now.
Since then he thought he did everything he was supposed to do. He attended a university, found a decent job, married a nice girl and had twin girls he loved and cherished. But after a few years, his debts began to overwhelm him, more so to his family than himself. At one point he was so desperate and greedy to get it all back, he used the money he planned to put a down payment on a house and lost it all on the gambling tables.
He came home to the small, rundown apartment, empty of his wife, children and the few belongings he could provide. His heart was broken, but he understood. He couldn’t blame her for leaving, but couldn’t keep from resenting her for taking his children away. She allows him to visit them every now and then. But if going to her parent’s house was uncomfortable enough before, it was a cake walk compared to now.
Approaching a small park that contained one swing set and teeter-totter, he sat down on a bench and opened the letter from his father. An old, yet uniquely crafted fishing hook fell into his hand. Despite how simple such a thing was, being the son of a fisherman, he knew its value in price. He then opened the letter that read...
Thomas,
So often do I think on the hardships you are facing. I grew up without a father—without the chance to have a childhood—without so many worldly things that could have helped our little family get by. But if I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. I wouldn't change any of the mistakes I made, because without them I would have never taken the opportunity to right my wrongs. By doing so, it brought me to your mother and you are my greatest reward. Your family is the only possession you may take with you when you die, Thomas. And your choices now will determine whether or not that will happen. You are struggling a lot with your debt right now and it is affecting you and others emotionally in a negative way. And so, I ask you to take this fishing hook and take it to the collector who lives on the address I wrote down for you. Sell it for the price that it’s worth and use the money to start paying off your debts. Gain the stability you need in your life, humble yourself, seek out your family and never let them go. I love you, son. I will never let you go.
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Thomas slumped down on the couch in the living room, pleasantly exhausted from the day. He singlehandedly putting his three-year-old daughters to bed, which was a long and complicated process, but he wouldn't change it for anything. Sighing in relief, he looked up and smiled when his wife approached and sidle herself alongside him, her head resting on his shoulder, his arms around her. As she gazed lovingly into his eyes, everything his father told him made complete and perfect sense.
“Welcome home,” she said. He knew it wasn’t the house she referred to, but him finding his way back into her heart.
***
Lucas had no idea what to make of the ridiculous object his father left him. A ribbon? What am I going to do with a ribbon? Never in his twenty-three years would he have guessed his father to play such a joke. Beyond the grave, no less. Frustrated, he ripped open the letter.
Lucas,
It's very easy to see all the moments in your life where you have succeeded. You finished school, received a well earned education, have a good and stable job, live in a nice home and you are at a point where you believe you have it all. What could possibly be missing in your life? I could give you the answer, but that is not what this life is about. But I will say that true happiness is waiting for you and all you must do is open your mind towards others to see it. True beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Do you remember when you were young? You were always playing down by the inlet with the neighbor girl. You would come home with stories of the greatest adventures. Somehow you lost that part of yourself. What I want you to do is take this ribbon, find that neighbor girl you used to play with and give it her. You will find that greatest adventure is yet to come. I love you, son. Always remember that.
After the long drive back to his childhood home, it wasn’t long until Lucas discover Annabelle still living in the same house she resided in all her life. She stayed to tend to her grandfather who was in need of assisted living. They couldn't afford a real facility, so she volunteered. Over the years she had become quite the artist and was told that she could be found everywhere with her sketch pad.
When inquiring about her, he was told to go to the inlet—ironically back to where it all began. He found her sitting by the narrowest part of the river. She sat on a high rock, holding a pad of paper on her lap while she hovered closely over what she was sketching. Her hair hung like a curtain over her shoulders, so he couldn’t see her face. She glanced over at him for a moment, picking up her things to leave while still keeping her head down.
“Annabelle?” he asked, and she stopped dead in her tracks but did not turn. He approached her from behind, asking questions about her life, trying to start a conversation, but she would not look at him. Not even a hello.
Finally, before she was about to leave, he placed his hand on her shoulder and gently turned her around to face him. He remembered her face, but did not remember the scar that now trailed across her cheek and up towards her forehead. He couldn’t help wince at the pain she must’ve endured to receive such a scar. Tears, brimming in her eyes, she shied away from his grasp, but he stopped her.
“What happened?” he asked.
In a quiet voice, she responded, “Accident.”
Lucas immediately knew she was lying, remembering her father and his drinking problem. He was about to say something, but an unknown force stopped him, reminding him about the ribbon in his pocket. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. So that’s what his father was talking about—why she kept her hair in front of her face. When they were young, her hair was always pulled back in a ribbon, revealing her smile and laughter.
“I have something for you,” he said, pulling out the ribbon. “May I?”
She was confused at his inference, but as soon as he moved forward and pulled her hair back, she stiffened, but allowed him to tie her hair back in a bow. She felt the silky ends with her fingers and a hint of a smile appeared on her face. Instantly, something changed in him. A feeling he never had suddenly erupted in his chest.
“Wow,” he breathed. “You are more beautiful than I remembered.”
Her smile grew ever so slightly and all at once did Lucas see exactly what his father wanted him to see...
SIX MONTHS LATER
Never had Lucas heard a more beautiful sound or seen a more beautiful sight than watching his new wife laugh as they danced to the music playing at their wedding reception. Her hair was pulled up, the ribbon he gave her weaving through her cascading curls and he could not imagine being happier anywhere else. His father was right. True beauty was in the eyes of the beholder, and the greatest adventure was yet to come.
***
Jonathan looked at the empty bullet shell and began to cry. He didn't have to open the letter to know the significance that it held. But nevertheless, he tearfully read the small print that said,
Jonathan,
You told me that you want to make a difference in the world, that you wanted to become a soldier like me. But know this…it is one thing to fight for personal honor than it is to fight for your life and freedom. You left believing you would return with glory. Instead, you came home with a bullet in your shoulder and endless nightmares that won’t seem to ever go away. Though you won’t admit it, I know this to be true. I’ve had those nightmares, I’ve seen those terrors. This bullet shell represents the bullet I took from the rebels who held me captive for those dark weeks. I thought I was going to die, hoping I would so I wouldn’t have to endure. But there’s a reason why I lived and why you survived the trenches—why those bullets didn't kill us. We were meant to move forward and continue to help others. You are not alone in this. I love you too much to see you give up your life any longer. It’s okay to admit to weakness. It’s okay to ask for help.
ONE YEAR LATER
Jonathan sat in the hospital, waiting for the nurse to finish up. He was as nervous as can be, knowing reality was going to hit hard in a few seconds. After fighting in a war, enduring endless gunfire in such horrific circumstances, spending months in therapy to deal with it all, never was he more scared than this moment right here. His nightmares had almost completely disappeared, but were now replaced with new worries and fears that would affect him for the rest of his life.
He held his breath when the nurse turned toward him and headed in his direction. Slowly, he released it as she placed his newborn baby girl in his arms. She was wrapped in a soft blanket, sleeping peacefully after the chaos of her coming into the world. As if she was the most fragile thing that ever existed, he held her close and lightly kissed her forehead, whispering, “Hello little one. I'm your daddy.”
All his life he wanted to be a soldier. He spent his days dreaming of what it would be like to hold glory in his hands. But the war did not have such an effect. He was proud to have served and protected his country. He would never regret that part. But it left him a scarred and broken man until his father’s words told him there was no shame in seeking help. He was too proud to do so at first, but knew it had to be done to rid himself of the demons that followed him everywhere. Now, having made peace with that part of his life, he was in the presence of an angel and now literally held glory in his hands.
But Tim’s life wasn’t always fixed on the life as a fisherman. At sixteen, Tim came from the monotonous life as a worker from the south. His father walked out on his family shortly after he was born, leaving him to care for his mother and younger brother during their times of poverty. Despite their troubles, Tim always felt blessed during that time. Being a white man amongst the slaves, he was shown more kindness than others. However, he never believed people should be treated better than another because of their skin color. Hence, as he got older, he became a Yankee soldier and fought for their freedom.
While dwelling in a trench somewhere on enemy soil, his mother caught a fatal illness. Tim came home a broken man to the news of becoming an orphan and his brother having fled to Texas due to some trouble he had with the law. Knowing he had nothing left, he took what earnings he received from the war and travelled north, mourning his mother and angry with his brother for ruining the family name.
Tim stopped suddenly, remembering the day he arrived with nothing but his name and the clothes on his back. He was walking on the very shore when he met the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She was searching the tide pools just as he was, marveling at the sea shells she was finding. She had long hair she refused to cut, eyes that sparkled like the sunset on the water, and a clean soul unmarked by the ugliness of the war. He passed her; too shy to say anything until she approached him.
He will always remember the first thing she said to him.
“Did you know there’s a legend of a magic starfish that resides in one of these tide pools?” she asked.
Astonished that she was speaking to him, he replied with a simple, “No.”
She smiled at him and said, “It’s said that if you find it, you get three wishes. And it has to be something you can see, hear and touch. If you were to find it, what would you wish for?”
Tim had no real answer for her except, “Nothing.”
She was puzzled and he continued with, “I can’t take any worldly possessions with me when I die, except for the ones I love. Last I checked, one cannot see, hear or touch love.” She seemed to agree, but only smiled as if she knew something he didn’t.
He married that girl, completely surprised someone like her could ever love a man like him. After many years of blissful happiness, he finally asked her, “Why me?”
“The day I met you,” she said, “I found the star fish. I wished...for the perfect man to love me. It was only moments later when I saw you, I heard you speak and I eventually felt your loving touch. You are mine and now you always will be. Who says one cannot wish for love?”
He then asked, “What about your other wishes?”
“Didn't need them,” she shrugged. “I have all that I ever wanted and will ever need.”
Smiling at the memory, Tim’s eyes misted at the wonderful years he spent with her, the three sons they had, and simply living life without fear or sadness. But now, his empty heart began to ache knowing he'll spend the rest of his days without his wife—having passed away one year ago today, he missed her with every fiber of his being and was quite lonely. His sons had moved on with their lives. He hadn't seen or spoken to his brother since he left for battle, and now lived with the only ambition of one day being reunited with wife after death. He knew the day would be soon and she had lived a fulfilling life. But he still worried for his children.
Despite how hard he tried to teach them, each of the three faced a certain challenge that he tried so hard to provide wisdom for. However, his council was everything short of a quick fix and none were interested to hear what he had to say. As he wandered along the beach, he came upon a deep pool and stared into its depths. Instantly his sight was caught by a brilliantly colored starfish with curling tendrils and reflected the light of the overcast sky. At that moment, he closed his eyes and made three wishes...
***
The three sons all stood around the lawyer in a private room where he read their father’s will. Each waited to hear what they would receive, but knew already it wouldn’t be much. Their father had always been a humble man with no intentions to spoil his children.
The Lawyer was a family friend, so propriety was replaced with a more casual tone. “Each of you were given something considered very precious to your father. He had one wish for each of you and asks you to treasure it dearly. To the oldest, Thomas Brown...your father wanted you to have this,” he said, presenting him with an antique fishing hook. “To the second oldest, Lucas Brown, you are to receive this…” He then presented him with a small, satin ribbon. “And to the youngest, Jonathan Brown, this is for you,” he told him, giving him an empty bullet casing.
All received a small envelope that each were to read in solitude. None spoke a word as all walked out of the building. With endearing goodbyes, they each went their separate ways with their small tokens from their departed father and a set of instructions they would soon discover.
PART TWO
After being presented with the "inheritance" his father left him, Thomas stared at the fishing hook in his hand as he walked down the sidewalk in the salty-aired coast of Maine. He hadn't been home in years. He finished school, left and never looked back...until now.
Since then he thought he did everything he was supposed to do. He attended a university, found a decent job, married a nice girl and had twin girls he loved and cherished. But after a few years, his debts began to overwhelm him, more so to his family than himself. At one point he was so desperate and greedy to get it all back, he used the money he planned to put a down payment on a house and lost it all on the gambling tables.
He came home to the small, rundown apartment, empty of his wife, children and the few belongings he could provide. His heart was broken, but he understood. He couldn’t blame her for leaving, but couldn’t keep from resenting her for taking his children away. She allows him to visit them every now and then. But if going to her parent’s house was uncomfortable enough before, it was a cake walk compared to now.
Approaching a small park that contained one swing set and teeter-totter, he sat down on a bench and opened the letter from his father. An old, yet uniquely crafted fishing hook fell into his hand. Despite how simple such a thing was, being the son of a fisherman, he knew its value in price. He then opened the letter that read...
Thomas,
So often do I think on the hardships you are facing. I grew up without a father—without the chance to have a childhood—without so many worldly things that could have helped our little family get by. But if I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. I wouldn't change any of the mistakes I made, because without them I would have never taken the opportunity to right my wrongs. By doing so, it brought me to your mother and you are my greatest reward. Your family is the only possession you may take with you when you die, Thomas. And your choices now will determine whether or not that will happen. You are struggling a lot with your debt right now and it is affecting you and others emotionally in a negative way. And so, I ask you to take this fishing hook and take it to the collector who lives on the address I wrote down for you. Sell it for the price that it’s worth and use the money to start paying off your debts. Gain the stability you need in your life, humble yourself, seek out your family and never let them go. I love you, son. I will never let you go.
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Thomas slumped down on the couch in the living room, pleasantly exhausted from the day. He singlehandedly putting his three-year-old daughters to bed, which was a long and complicated process, but he wouldn't change it for anything. Sighing in relief, he looked up and smiled when his wife approached and sidle herself alongside him, her head resting on his shoulder, his arms around her. As she gazed lovingly into his eyes, everything his father told him made complete and perfect sense.
“Welcome home,” she said. He knew it wasn’t the house she referred to, but him finding his way back into her heart.
***
Lucas had no idea what to make of the ridiculous object his father left him. A ribbon? What am I going to do with a ribbon? Never in his twenty-three years would he have guessed his father to play such a joke. Beyond the grave, no less. Frustrated, he ripped open the letter.
Lucas,
It's very easy to see all the moments in your life where you have succeeded. You finished school, received a well earned education, have a good and stable job, live in a nice home and you are at a point where you believe you have it all. What could possibly be missing in your life? I could give you the answer, but that is not what this life is about. But I will say that true happiness is waiting for you and all you must do is open your mind towards others to see it. True beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Do you remember when you were young? You were always playing down by the inlet with the neighbor girl. You would come home with stories of the greatest adventures. Somehow you lost that part of yourself. What I want you to do is take this ribbon, find that neighbor girl you used to play with and give it her. You will find that greatest adventure is yet to come. I love you, son. Always remember that.
After the long drive back to his childhood home, it wasn’t long until Lucas discover Annabelle still living in the same house she resided in all her life. She stayed to tend to her grandfather who was in need of assisted living. They couldn't afford a real facility, so she volunteered. Over the years she had become quite the artist and was told that she could be found everywhere with her sketch pad.
When inquiring about her, he was told to go to the inlet—ironically back to where it all began. He found her sitting by the narrowest part of the river. She sat on a high rock, holding a pad of paper on her lap while she hovered closely over what she was sketching. Her hair hung like a curtain over her shoulders, so he couldn’t see her face. She glanced over at him for a moment, picking up her things to leave while still keeping her head down.
“Annabelle?” he asked, and she stopped dead in her tracks but did not turn. He approached her from behind, asking questions about her life, trying to start a conversation, but she would not look at him. Not even a hello.
Finally, before she was about to leave, he placed his hand on her shoulder and gently turned her around to face him. He remembered her face, but did not remember the scar that now trailed across her cheek and up towards her forehead. He couldn’t help wince at the pain she must’ve endured to receive such a scar. Tears, brimming in her eyes, she shied away from his grasp, but he stopped her.
“What happened?” he asked.
In a quiet voice, she responded, “Accident.”
Lucas immediately knew she was lying, remembering her father and his drinking problem. He was about to say something, but an unknown force stopped him, reminding him about the ribbon in his pocket. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. So that’s what his father was talking about—why she kept her hair in front of her face. When they were young, her hair was always pulled back in a ribbon, revealing her smile and laughter.
“I have something for you,” he said, pulling out the ribbon. “May I?”
She was confused at his inference, but as soon as he moved forward and pulled her hair back, she stiffened, but allowed him to tie her hair back in a bow. She felt the silky ends with her fingers and a hint of a smile appeared on her face. Instantly, something changed in him. A feeling he never had suddenly erupted in his chest.
“Wow,” he breathed. “You are more beautiful than I remembered.”
Her smile grew ever so slightly and all at once did Lucas see exactly what his father wanted him to see...
SIX MONTHS LATER
Never had Lucas heard a more beautiful sound or seen a more beautiful sight than watching his new wife laugh as they danced to the music playing at their wedding reception. Her hair was pulled up, the ribbon he gave her weaving through her cascading curls and he could not imagine being happier anywhere else. His father was right. True beauty was in the eyes of the beholder, and the greatest adventure was yet to come.
***
Jonathan looked at the empty bullet shell and began to cry. He didn't have to open the letter to know the significance that it held. But nevertheless, he tearfully read the small print that said,
Jonathan,
You told me that you want to make a difference in the world, that you wanted to become a soldier like me. But know this…it is one thing to fight for personal honor than it is to fight for your life and freedom. You left believing you would return with glory. Instead, you came home with a bullet in your shoulder and endless nightmares that won’t seem to ever go away. Though you won’t admit it, I know this to be true. I’ve had those nightmares, I’ve seen those terrors. This bullet shell represents the bullet I took from the rebels who held me captive for those dark weeks. I thought I was going to die, hoping I would so I wouldn’t have to endure. But there’s a reason why I lived and why you survived the trenches—why those bullets didn't kill us. We were meant to move forward and continue to help others. You are not alone in this. I love you too much to see you give up your life any longer. It’s okay to admit to weakness. It’s okay to ask for help.
ONE YEAR LATER
Jonathan sat in the hospital, waiting for the nurse to finish up. He was as nervous as can be, knowing reality was going to hit hard in a few seconds. After fighting in a war, enduring endless gunfire in such horrific circumstances, spending months in therapy to deal with it all, never was he more scared than this moment right here. His nightmares had almost completely disappeared, but were now replaced with new worries and fears that would affect him for the rest of his life.
He held his breath when the nurse turned toward him and headed in his direction. Slowly, he released it as she placed his newborn baby girl in his arms. She was wrapped in a soft blanket, sleeping peacefully after the chaos of her coming into the world. As if she was the most fragile thing that ever existed, he held her close and lightly kissed her forehead, whispering, “Hello little one. I'm your daddy.”
All his life he wanted to be a soldier. He spent his days dreaming of what it would be like to hold glory in his hands. But the war did not have such an effect. He was proud to have served and protected his country. He would never regret that part. But it left him a scarred and broken man until his father’s words told him there was no shame in seeking help. He was too proud to do so at first, but knew it had to be done to rid himself of the demons that followed him everywhere. Now, having made peace with that part of his life, he was in the presence of an angel and now literally held glory in his hands.
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