He was just a young boy writing poems, humming songs, and enjoying all the playful things of his creations. He was expecting approval from his elders, but the child was treated more like the sound of a dripping faucet. Annoyed with the conception of childhood dreams, a stern voice spoke and stifled all confidence. The young lad discovered pain, and the faucet was shut tight from that moment on. He was innocent and vulnerable, and the damage was done.
I can remember so clearly writing poems and songs as a young child. It was quickly dismissed as foolishness. What a tragic display of stunting the growth of future inspirations. I don’t blame the words of a young parent who did not understand her own life, let alone mine. But I was thankful for a grandparent, who had only love and support to give to a boy called “Fidget” who never sat still for a moment, and he tested the patience of all who were exposed to his energy.
In older years inspiration begins to drip. The once tightened faucet of the dreams called life began to trickle, then a stream, the mighty Mississippi. The raging power of the current has swept away the banks. Nothing can hold back the flow until the river decides to recede and the storm upstream has given her last drops of water.
My heart can see the picture so clearly, vivid colors, bright, mottled to gray. The clear outline of a structure is faded in the corner to a blur, a smudge. The tapestry has been ripped and mended. Paint has chipped away and the canvas is exposed. The frame is cracked, and pieces are gone. Yet with all the damage life has to offer, the painting shows its beauty in the hands of the brush.
Is this painting worth a treasure? Who decides? I believe gifts are given to men. I believe gifts are given to children. Each one will be measured and qualified. Each one receives a reward according to their own grace. Is the gift your heart’s desire? Has it become an addiction like no other? You can’t stop. You can’t ignore the way it pulses in your veins and causes your heart to beat. Is it your love, your passion, and your pain?
The mind, with all the logic of math, says things do not add up. “You must be trained by scholars to accomplish the task,” the insult says. The frame of the painting is broken, the lines are not straight, and it has been torn right down the center. It has no value. It says, “doubt.” It calculates the odds of success and repeats again to the heart, “Things are not in your favor. You will not succeed.”
I beg of you, don’t allow the damage of your youthful days to be the focus of your life. Live again, see your worth, and believe in yourself. If you are stepping into your dream, or following a destiny, be bold. Say to the onlookers, “I have worth.” I hope you decide to follow the seeded dreams and desires of your heart, the prompting of your passion. Go on, try and experience the wonders of your new world.