Today I saw a boy, maybe 8 or 9. Carrying on his back a black bag more than twice his size. Walking down a flight of stairs with the utmost caution. Wobbling and almost stumbling at times. Worried, I approached and asked if he was alright. He flashes a smile so wide and bright, the kind that most children have. He says, "This is my cello". I stop, amazed. The pride, the clarity, the certainty of his words threw me off guard. I move aside to let him continue his way down, and though each step he took shook and wavered, he persisted calmly, with a determination that made the moment unbearably sweet. I leave, I do not watch him make it down the stairs. I know, he'll be fine.
Sometimes life's kinda like that,
We thrust our hands out to help those we think need it,
How ignorant to assume that they can't shoulder the burdens they've chosen.
And though what they carry engulfs them,
They know it is their responsibility to make it down the stairs,
One shaky step at a time.
What comfort a child's words can give.
To know in a moment that not all hands need to be held,
To watch things take their course and find peace without worrying about the end.
How serene.
How magical.
Life.
