It’s so close I can almost touch it; freedom that is. It lies just beyond these walls. They started out for my protection, to keep danger from getting too close. On the other side of these walls, the scorching summer heat melts and the extreme cold of winter stings. Downpours of rain showers and drifts of snow have no place here. Unwelcome strangers are denied access. Yes, these walls have their purpose.
But one day someone will come looking for me and stand on the other side of these walls, looking in. They will reach out with their hand to touch mine, but will soon learn of the walls I stand behind. They will see me. They will try to touch me but won’t be able to feel my presence; at least not until they get past the barriers, past these walls. It will take some effort on their part to get past. Timing is critical. If they wait too late into the night, they will miss the open door that is opportunity. The door is always there but not always open. It must be locked to keep out those who seek to do harm. Soon it will be locked again.
Many passed by me on the streets and briedly stopped to take a peek. But when they stood outside looking in, they got a glimpse of the price tag. Unwilling to pay it, they moved on. So many times of this happening broke my heart even further. One day I met the most amazing person who stopped for a chance to see those of us behind the wall. For a moment of time, something inside me called out to something inside them. I thought for sure the walls would disappear. But I was too afraid to come out and they were too afraid to come in. Time stopped long enough to allow us to stare into one another’s eyes. However, we both blinked and in an instant it was over.
Perhaps in their gaze they looked too close and saw things they didn’t like. Not all my stitches are straight. Some of the processes that made me what I am today were harsh and left scars that never fully healed. My clothes are tattered and don’t fit right. My value did not measure up to what they had in mind, so they moved on. I hope they find what they are looking for.
The one who owns the store saw it all happen, the harshness of rejection. He rushed over to me and wrapped his arms around me. He reassured me that all would be ok. At first I didn’t want to believe him. But I trusted him anyway, in spite of my feelings. I asked myself, why stop believing in him now. He was right about everything else. He had every right to discard me like the others did, but he saw value in me that they did not. There is a reason I’m still here on this shelf. One day, someone will come looking. When they see me, they will look past the stitches, past the clothing, and past the scars. They will see the same value the owner of the store did. They will see the price and gladly pay it, even if it means they have to sacrifice.
I know the owner will not let me down. He will do whatever, in his power, to make it happen. All I have to do is be ready for when the day comes when someone takes me home for good. And so, prepared I stand, looking out through these walls. Watching. Waiting. I know you are out there.