To look at one’s personal history from a perspective of openness and growth brings freedom for developing creativity in the present.
Progressive awareness has been liberating for me at different phases throughout my life! At this stage, I’m realizing my energy toward writing. I’m drawn to have a clearer picture of God’s blessings and giftedness He’s given me. Paying attention to my upbringing has helped me face insecurity for freedom to create.
I admire people who have been writers all their lives! Although I have about thirty or more journals I’ve kept over the years, I’ve not entrusted my written thoughts to the public until recently. My adult insecurities left over from an unprocessed childhood held me back.
As an elementary student, I remember challenging times of creative tasks such as writing a story and drawing a picture. My six year-old self tried making sense of my dad’s death due to cancer. My family’s move to a new school and new neighborhood left me with obstacles bigger than what first graders were meant to cope with. Grief counselors were unheard of in those days.
I choose to acknowledge my past and own it as part of my story. With continual awareness comes grief over what was missed out on. To process through those losses frees me to live in the moment. In the meantime, I’ve learned to honor the energy I have over my writing.
This story touched me deeply. It’s written by Anonymous, who seems to know me well. If you know this particular Anonymous, please comment so I can thank my good friend.
The Little Boy
Once a little boy went to school. He was quite a little boy and it was quite a big school. But when the little boy found that he could go to his room by walking right in from the door outside, he was happy and the school did not seem quite so big any more.
One morning, when the little boy had been in school awhile, the teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” He liked to make pictures. He could make all kinds: lions and tigers, chickens and cows, trains and boats. He took out his box of crayons and began to draw.
But the teacher said: “Wait! It is not time to begin!” She waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “we are going to make flowers.”
“Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make flowers, and he began to make beautiful ones with his pink and orange and blue crayons.
But the teacher said, “Wait! And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher. “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s flower. Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s but he did not say this. He just turned his paper over and made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.
On another day, when the little boy had opened the door from the outside all by himself, the teacher said, “Today we are going to make something with clay.”
“Good!” thought the little boy. He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: snakes and snowmen, elephants and mice, cars and trucks. He began to pull and pinch his ball of clay.
But the teacher said: “Wait! It is not time to begin!” She waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “we are going to make a dish.” He liked to make dishes, and he began to make some that were all shapes and sizes.
Then the teacher said: “Wait! I will show you how.” She showed everyone how to make one deep dish. “There,” said the teacher. “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish. Then he looked at his own. He liked his dishes better than the teacher’s but he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again and made a dish like the teacher’s.
And pretty soon the little boy learned to wait and to watch, and to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon he didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happened that the little boy and his family moved to another house, in another city, and the little boy had to go to another school. This school was even bigger than the other one. And there was no door from the outside into his room. He had to go up some big steps and walk down a long hall to get to his room.
And the very first day he was there the teacher said, “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy and he waited for the teacher to tell him what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything; she just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy, she said, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”
“Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?”
“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.
“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.
“Why, any way you like,” said the teacher.
“Any color?” asked the little boy.
“Any color,” said the teacher, “If everyone made the same picture, and used the same colors, how would I know who made what, and which was which?”
“I don’t know,” said the little boy.
And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
How does the story touch you?
May you have courage to examine your own personal history. Have openness to face the past. Move beyond the losses and discover your giftedness in the present.
Honor God’s design for you. Be willing to face insecurity for freedom to create.