A Girl, a Box and A Crayon
Some might think this is peculiar. But, I find myself constantly writing things. Well, at least in my head. It's very rare that I take the time to log into blogger and actually type something I wrote mentally but, this time I do feel the need to do so.
The night after learning something that hurt my family, I wrote this as I laid in bed tormented by stress, anger and uncertainty. As I type this now you might be asking yourself, "Do you feel this way as you type it out?" Yes, I do. I may feel a little less anger but with every day that passes, the stress and uncertainty increases.
A Girl, A Box and A Crayon
By: Marsha K. Rodriguez
There was a day about 17 years ago that stays engraved in my memory. I'll never forget it. The death of a person very near and dear to me. It was also the day my childhood died.
I still had many toys and dolls but on that day, I got rid of them. I threw out all my kid stuff that day. Nearly everything...except one thing. I had a box of crayons that had been gifted to me and for a reason I still don't understand, I kept it. I still have this box even now.
I'm not much of an artist, yet I took out a piece of paper and with a crayon I drew a cloudy sky. I then took the silver crayon, and I attempted to draw a line. I had to press down a bit using more effort than it was worth, and despite that, I could barely see the silver line I drew.
Fast forwarding to three years ago, times had fallen hard on Eric and I. So hard I couldn't see the victory for all of the obstacles that lay before us. I found myself yet again for the second time in my life, pulling out a sheet of paper and using the same box of crayons I had aquired as a child, I drew the same cloudy sky. I took out the silver crayon. This time it was even harder to use than the first time. I had to press down extremely hard to get any color out of it and after the finished product, you could barely see the line at all. You had to strain your eyes, hold it away from you and up to the light just right just to see a small hint of silver. But, it was there just as before. Everyone else could see it, but not I. Perhaps, I was too close to see it.
And here we are yet again. The cloudy sky is there on the paper as it has been twice before in my life. After the news was broken to me, after the tears, the fear and the initial anger...I was able to draw, but this time my hand trembled so much that the clouds were scrambled and incoherent. All you can see is the cluster of dark and gruesome skies. So, for the third time in my life, I chose the same silver crayon. I prepared myself for a struggle to draw the line. But when I pressed down, the silver crayon shattered into pieces, leaving no hope for a silver line to be drawn.
Without a way to give myself a glimmer of hope, I naturally feel hopeless. I suppose it is because I am. I also feel that justice needs to be served to he that has put this horrible situation on my family without any remorse.
I was taught that God will provide and that you have to have faith. Faith is the very thing that defines a christian. However, I must have thrown that away along with my dolls for I am unable to find any.
I was also taught that forgiveness is the way you should feel about those who have wronged you, that too has been misplaced.
I want to have faith and believe we will survive.
But, I do not want to forgive. Even though I've been taught that it's "wrong".
At first, I wanted to show up at this person's place of business, get in his face and teach him the error of his ways.
But, in the last days, I've changed my attitude slightly.
I still want to go to his place of business, that is true. I pass by there everyday on my way to class. It would be so easy.
But I would not yell, scream or cause a scene. I would simply want to write a note in a red crayon as big as life and leave it on his desk:
There is a destiny that makes us family.
None goes their way alone.
All we send into the lives of others....
Comes back into our own.
The night after learning something that hurt my family, I wrote this as I laid in bed tormented by stress, anger and uncertainty. As I type this now you might be asking yourself, "Do you feel this way as you type it out?" Yes, I do. I may feel a little less anger but with every day that passes, the stress and uncertainty increases.
A Girl, A Box and A Crayon
By: Marsha K. Rodriguez
There was a day about 17 years ago that stays engraved in my memory. I'll never forget it. The death of a person very near and dear to me. It was also the day my childhood died.
I still had many toys and dolls but on that day, I got rid of them. I threw out all my kid stuff that day. Nearly everything...except one thing. I had a box of crayons that had been gifted to me and for a reason I still don't understand, I kept it. I still have this box even now.
I'm not much of an artist, yet I took out a piece of paper and with a crayon I drew a cloudy sky. I then took the silver crayon, and I attempted to draw a line. I had to press down a bit using more effort than it was worth, and despite that, I could barely see the silver line I drew.
Fast forwarding to three years ago, times had fallen hard on Eric and I. So hard I couldn't see the victory for all of the obstacles that lay before us. I found myself yet again for the second time in my life, pulling out a sheet of paper and using the same box of crayons I had aquired as a child, I drew the same cloudy sky. I took out the silver crayon. This time it was even harder to use than the first time. I had to press down extremely hard to get any color out of it and after the finished product, you could barely see the line at all. You had to strain your eyes, hold it away from you and up to the light just right just to see a small hint of silver. But, it was there just as before. Everyone else could see it, but not I. Perhaps, I was too close to see it.
And here we are yet again. The cloudy sky is there on the paper as it has been twice before in my life. After the news was broken to me, after the tears, the fear and the initial anger...I was able to draw, but this time my hand trembled so much that the clouds were scrambled and incoherent. All you can see is the cluster of dark and gruesome skies. So, for the third time in my life, I chose the same silver crayon. I prepared myself for a struggle to draw the line. But when I pressed down, the silver crayon shattered into pieces, leaving no hope for a silver line to be drawn.
Without a way to give myself a glimmer of hope, I naturally feel hopeless. I suppose it is because I am. I also feel that justice needs to be served to he that has put this horrible situation on my family without any remorse.
I was taught that God will provide and that you have to have faith. Faith is the very thing that defines a christian. However, I must have thrown that away along with my dolls for I am unable to find any.
I was also taught that forgiveness is the way you should feel about those who have wronged you, that too has been misplaced.
I want to have faith and believe we will survive.
But, I do not want to forgive. Even though I've been taught that it's "wrong".
At first, I wanted to show up at this person's place of business, get in his face and teach him the error of his ways.
But, in the last days, I've changed my attitude slightly.
I still want to go to his place of business, that is true. I pass by there everyday on my way to class. It would be so easy.
But I would not yell, scream or cause a scene. I would simply want to write a note in a red crayon as big as life and leave it on his desk:
There is a destiny that makes us family.
None goes their way alone.
All we send into the lives of others....
Comes back into our own.
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