Reflections

By Brianna Williford
Age 16
Seneca High School

My heart was broken in a million pieces, scattered about like broken china. All of my emotions had been overwhelmed by a sadness that was pitted in my stomach and moved into every part of my body, causing it to drag as I walked along the crowded street that night. Hundreds of people passed by my on Michigan Avenue, but they were oblivious to me, for the ache in my soul commanded my attention. Fighting back tears, I turned into the courtyard of an old gothic church, lost in my thoughts and reflections.

Sitting down on the cold, stone steps leading up to the ivy-covered church, memories from the past week rushed back, filling my mind, causing the ache in my stomach to grow. I had just spent the last five days in Chicago working at an inner city daycare for underprivileged children. Each child had a story - a case. That week, they became much more than "cases," they had become real people with names and faces and stories. Each had a beautiful, unique spirit, and a personality all their own. they were individuals I connected with, who I loved and loved me in return. In those few days, I had given millions of piggyback rides, jumped rope until exhaustion, and read stories until out of breath. I listened to their stories, laughed with them, and hugged them when they needed it. It was hard to fathom how fast each child had grown so close to me in such little time, but each had left an imprint on me.

There was the little boy who was separated from the rest of the group. He sat to himself and had those ears that everyone says, "You'll grow into them." He sat a the old, out-of-tune piano all day seemingly lost in his music. I suppose he taught himself, and I always wondered if the piano was his escape from the world beyond the center, a cold, unpromising world for a young child to bear.

Then there was the group of girls, all about 10 years old, who spent their day jumping rope on the sidewalk. They always made it a contest and playfully kidded with each other about "who's the best."

There was a six-year-old girl who I connected with most. Everyday, she made it her goal to test her boundaries, and try my patience, but always gave me a huge hug before leaving each day. She had a sly grin and bright mischievous brown eyes that were burned into my memory. Her last hug was what caused my heart to crumble, and meant everything to me sitting there that night.

Breathing deeply, the sweet aroma of the flower gardens filled my senses and the rhythm of the fountain faintly echoed in my head. A sharp wind hit my back, causing me to shiver, and carried my gaze upward, so that my focus was on the sky. My eyes became fixed on the stars of Chicago's sky, but they were not the usual stars I was used to. these "stars" were the lights of the surrounding buildings, towering above where I sat. each light from the buildings took on their own special glow, reminding me of each of the children's smiles. Then, I became aware of the outside noise, the horns of the cars reverberating off the skyscrapers, the shouts and laughs of people passing by.

I sat in awe and began to think of how amazing it was that in the middle of all this chaos, all of the hustle and bustle of the city, right in the center was a peaceful sanctuary. For me, the church's courtyard had become the eye of my emotional storm, a calm serene place. Looking at the stars, my heart began to lighten, losing some of the emotional weight. Then, above the din of the city, above the sound of the fountain, a line from one of my favorite songs began to cycle in my head "I hung the stars and I hold your heart, so never be afraid." At the moment of realization, a sudden peace welled up within me, overcoming the sadness. God was letting me know it would be okay. He would take care of those I had been touched by that week, and He would heal my heart, also. In that stillness and tranquility, in the midst of all that insanity, I learned that it is when our hearts are broken that God's healing can do the most.