A lesser known fact about me is that I cut my teeth on Disney movies. Hardly a year when by, and I was escorted by my hip Aunt Margy to the theaters on opening weekend to buy a small popcorn, a small cherry coke, and a ticket to Neverland, Prideland Rock, or Agrabah. It is safe to say, tucked under my belt is a wealth of knowledge regarding movie details - characters, plots, and the oh-so-singable songs. Sing with me, now "I wanna be where the people are... I wanna see, wanna see them dancing...
Considering a long resume of Disney film viewings, I assumed I had most of the movies memorized. The songs most certainly help wit that. This assumption was proved incorrect, however, the last time I watched Cinderella again. I caught an aspect of the plot that never seemed of significance to me.
At a particular point in the story, Cinderella has just escaped from being locked her in room to come present herself to the Grand Duke. Previously, to both his dismay and the dismay of the evil stepmother, the glass slipper failed to fit either of Cinderella's ridiculous stepsisters. Now, this was the young, mistreated girl's chance. Because, of course, her feet were made to fit the slipper. So, as they all settle into the surprise of her entry into the room, the Grand Duke moves to fit the slipper on Cinderella's feet. In a moment of pure hatred, her God-awful stepmother trips the man and the glass slipper falls and shatters in the midst of the crowd. A dream that should have been Cinderella's alone appears, atleast to those viewing, to have slipped away and been utterly destroyed. And here is where I forgot what happens next. Or perhaps, did not see the need to remember the way I do now.
At a moment of sheer ruin, Cinderella reaches behind her apron and pulls out the other matching slipper. She had it all along. It was her's and there was little to argue with that. In fact, it was the one thing left to her after the spell had been broken at midnight, the night of the ball; the dress and even the mice-turned-horse-drawn pumpkin carriage lasted but an evening. But the slipper remained.
I think this part of the story, and the story as a whole, speaks a great deal to the theme of becoming or being beautiful. There exists a beauty given to each of us that may indeed fit a role in this world, whether vocational or relational, but nonetheless lives in us and is innately ours, though we often forget. And this beauty is often expressed or displayed outwardly, hopefully to brighten and inspire the lives of those around us. It is fragile, though. Beauty, at times, seems to fall and crash before our eyes like that very same glass slipper - taken from us in moment of greatest need. Because of our world, our culture, and the hand of the enemy in both, we are left to believe that in a moment of pain, of failure, of fear, or of attack - that it is gone and that all dreams completely destroyed.
But that is just not so. Because nestled somewhere deep, whether in folds of an apron or of our hearts, is the other glass slipper - the beauty that is ours, that fits each of us uniquely, and that inspires dreams that only God can make come true its revealing.
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Beyond My Own Heart
Our conversation, among friends new and old, turned to Africa last night. This is not completely uncommon, as a few of us have spent even the briefest of time there. But it always catches my heart when we do. Even for the countries and the peoples I have not visited, itreaches out, and last night it longed to do so as the story of a young Sudanese woman's life was told...
Sold at the age of fourteen for a sum of $5,000 to a Sudanese man more than twice here age living here in America, the young woman was uprooted from her life in southern Sudan, though it may have been tumultuous at best, and exported to Las Vegas like some good to be traded and not a human being with will and desire of her own. Then, forced to marry this man, she became pregnant with her first child and endured the physical and emotional abuse of a person who cared little for her well-being and only that he "made good" on his purchase. So, when she escaped from him at the hands of a compassionate clinic worker (who mended her bruised and broken body), he went straight to her family in Sudan asking for his "refund". They had spent their money, and he had them imprisoned. Simple as that.
The young woman, after taking some comfort in a shelter for battered women in Las Vegas, met and was taken in by a family from a church nearby to the clinic. Soon, she took a job and worked off that $5,000 debt so that her family would be let out of jail and set free. But freedom is still something this young woman has not known.
Unfortunately, while still in Las Vegas, she walked into yet another damaging relationship, this time by her own will, that resulted in another child and far too many bruises that one should endure. She escaped again, fleeing to Gallatin, Tennessee where some cousins of hers live. Once here, she found a job only to be laid off in a period of months and lived out of her car with a young boy at her hip. After finding an ESL class hosted at a local church, she was noticed and taken in by yet another loving family who to this day seeks to help mend the pieces of her broken life. Her first child still remains in the care of her ex-husband, or owner, I should say. Because of some unjust ruling, she is required to make child support payments to this man and works long hours at a local resort, famous for hiring people of varying nationalities, to do so. And she lives here, resenting the decisions that everyone else has made along with her own that have put her at the mercy of the kindness of strangers
And that's her story. One of so many which tell of peoples struggles, both within their homelands and within their hearts to find a better life and to live free. Some prevail, and others find themselves stumbling over roadblocks from their past and a denial of the worth that is theirs from their very inception.
My heart betrayed itself at wanting instinctively to reach out to this woman and women like her, and yet to stay safe within its own walls of recovery, of safety, and of solitude. I can certainly identify, but I often convince myself I have enough of my own struggles (though none worth holding up against this young Sudanese woman's). Marrying my new world of pleasure to the pains of this woman's story seems impossible. But it is, I think and hope. Because all of her story is not without meaning, and should she find the platform, the abilities of this young woman to share, to encourage, and to lead are unending. But the task is to first find the healing and the freedom that has been denied to her for so long. And that is not unlike the task left for many of us.
What is that first step, then? Is it to wake up and to find gratitude for another day? Is it to reconcile the past by simply being present, knowing that nothing is undone but that there is so much left in us to do and to become? Is it to hope and have faith in the surety of the promises wound all through the fabrics of scripture?
I am most compelled to pray in times like these. Times where everything seems contradictory from one day to the next when I am alert to things going on beyond my own heart and my own simple mind. I will pray that my contentment is not founded on pleasure alone in the things of this world but on goodness of God, even through the the most difficult and challenging of times, for myself and for others. Because I know, no matter how far the swelling of my heart may reach, God can always reach further.
Sold at the age of fourteen for a sum of $5,000 to a Sudanese man more than twice here age living here in America, the young woman was uprooted from her life in southern Sudan, though it may have been tumultuous at best, and exported to Las Vegas like some good to be traded and not a human being with will and desire of her own. Then, forced to marry this man, she became pregnant with her first child and endured the physical and emotional abuse of a person who cared little for her well-being and only that he "made good" on his purchase. So, when she escaped from him at the hands of a compassionate clinic worker (who mended her bruised and broken body), he went straight to her family in Sudan asking for his "refund". They had spent their money, and he had them imprisoned. Simple as that.
The young woman, after taking some comfort in a shelter for battered women in Las Vegas, met and was taken in by a family from a church nearby to the clinic. Soon, she took a job and worked off that $5,000 debt so that her family would be let out of jail and set free. But freedom is still something this young woman has not known.
Unfortunately, while still in Las Vegas, she walked into yet another damaging relationship, this time by her own will, that resulted in another child and far too many bruises that one should endure. She escaped again, fleeing to Gallatin, Tennessee where some cousins of hers live. Once here, she found a job only to be laid off in a period of months and lived out of her car with a young boy at her hip. After finding an ESL class hosted at a local church, she was noticed and taken in by yet another loving family who to this day seeks to help mend the pieces of her broken life. Her first child still remains in the care of her ex-husband, or owner, I should say. Because of some unjust ruling, she is required to make child support payments to this man and works long hours at a local resort, famous for hiring people of varying nationalities, to do so. And she lives here, resenting the decisions that everyone else has made along with her own that have put her at the mercy of the kindness of strangers
And that's her story. One of so many which tell of peoples struggles, both within their homelands and within their hearts to find a better life and to live free. Some prevail, and others find themselves stumbling over roadblocks from their past and a denial of the worth that is theirs from their very inception.
My heart betrayed itself at wanting instinctively to reach out to this woman and women like her, and yet to stay safe within its own walls of recovery, of safety, and of solitude. I can certainly identify, but I often convince myself I have enough of my own struggles (though none worth holding up against this young Sudanese woman's). Marrying my new world of pleasure to the pains of this woman's story seems impossible. But it is, I think and hope. Because all of her story is not without meaning, and should she find the platform, the abilities of this young woman to share, to encourage, and to lead are unending. But the task is to first find the healing and the freedom that has been denied to her for so long. And that is not unlike the task left for many of us.
What is that first step, then? Is it to wake up and to find gratitude for another day? Is it to reconcile the past by simply being present, knowing that nothing is undone but that there is so much left in us to do and to become? Is it to hope and have faith in the surety of the promises wound all through the fabrics of scripture?
I am most compelled to pray in times like these. Times where everything seems contradictory from one day to the next when I am alert to things going on beyond my own heart and my own simple mind. I will pray that my contentment is not founded on pleasure alone in the things of this world but on goodness of God, even through the the most difficult and challenging of times, for myself and for others. Because I know, no matter how far the swelling of my heart may reach, God can always reach further.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
