In the flat-like-a-pancake land, the boy stood out like a
sore thumb. Especially when he opened
his mouth.
Ha! We knew you are
different! You are from… people said, recognizing his unmistakable accent. With
that they thought they already knew everything there was to know about the boy
and for some reason felt better about themselves.
They shrugged their shoulders and went to their homes knowing that they belonged and thanked God that they were not foreigners like the orphan boy who spoke with a funny accent.
So, the boy learned that listening is better than speaking
and quiet is better than many words.
As
he moved through life, listening and quiet, he heard and noticed what most of
us loud and chattering types tend to overlook. He became more gentle and tender,
more caring and attentive to others, as if he somehow knew, as if he somehow understood
that they too carried a burden too heavy for their shoulders.
Even if nobody else could notice.
And something deep would stir within the boy, something that felt like it was going to swallow him alive. But he couldn't allow it... He had to push it down, hard, hard, biting his lips, clenching his teeth, pushing back the rain cloud gathering on his eyelashes until the stirring subsided and he could breathe again.
No comments:
Post a Comment