Through deep cries she shared her story of childhood abuse and a long list of drug abuse and the demons in her life she just couldn't seem to walk away from. As she spoke, I realized for the first time something crazy and so simple. She wasn’t a demon, she was a human, a mother, a child and a friend. A broken one just like me. She wasn't my enemy, she was actually somehow, someway my responsibility. Her shattered past became my inner prayer. Her brokenness, broke me. Her tough exterior softened mine. Sitting there I saw it, her pain came out through hurt, her sorrow slipped through her lips like a sharp dagger of words. Her blank and bitter stares were caused from years of feeling a deep and lonely emptiness that none of us could ever fill. She was broken and she didn’t need advice or critical words. She needed my ears to hear her. My hands to hold her. My shoulder to lean on and my chest to beat on.
I know her and so do you. She is in each of us. Each of us is carrying the baggage of our life. Even though our baggage is different in size and color we are each still dragging, holding, pushing and throwing them along lives path. Stop and take a moment to see through the veil to what hides behind it. It just might surprise you with its hidden beauty and strength!
