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That Old Sock
I think my life can be accurately compared to that
old sock that keeps getting thrown away, but somehow always finds its way back
to your drawer. You know the one, it’s full of holes and places that are worn,
and you can’t wear it without shoes because your big toe sticks out and the
elastic on the top is all worn out. But every time you find it back in your
already over-stuffed sock drawer, you can’t help but wonder how it got there.
My real-life (non-sock) story begins on a Wednesday
evening in late January. While sitting at my desk and talking on the phone, I am
pretending to study for my biology test the next day.
I quickly hang up the phone as my bedroom door
swings open to expose the seemingly thousands of unfamiliar faces dressed in the
familiar uniforms of policemen filling the hallway. In that one moment,
everything I once knew has become a figment of my imagination, just something of
the past.
So here I am, holes and worn out elastic,
all alone once again in the big blue wastebasket. You’d think I would get used
to being in here without my pair or my wearer, but no matter how many times I
end up here all alone, every time feels like the first. I’m so scared and my
only desire is to find which way is up and get back to my drawer. I suppose you
aren’t
interested in my
story though, as I am just an old worn sock.
Upon seeing all of those unfamiliar faces in police
uniforms, my first reaction, quite ironically, is to begin studying biology. I
promise myself never to look out toward the hallway ever again, afraid of what I
might see if I do. Well, as you would probably expect, I didn’t make it very far
in the biology book, and I suppose the blank, glazed-over look in my eyes gave
me away, because one of the police uniforms started talking to me. You see, he
had been given the job to watch me (just in case I tried to sneak out, maybe). I
don’t know, maybe he was the rookie and the other police uniforms didn’t want to
deal with him, but he didn’t get much out of me, that’s for sure.
Soon enough I have the privilege of seeing
first-hand the reason of the mysterious visit from the entire police station and
their unfamiliar faces. In a momentary lapse of judgment, I peer out into the
now deserted hallway and I see what I think I had feared from the beginning:
there goes my brother, with an odd smirk on his face- it’s almost as if he has
become just another of the unfamiliar faces. He has handcuffs on and is being
led down the hall and up the stairs and as far as I’m concerned, out of my life.
You know, the odd thing about it is that I haven’t yet processed the handcuffs
or the police uniforms. The only question on my mind is ‘What was that
expression on that face I no longer know?’
So, here I am, still all alone in the big
blue wastebasket. I am so confused. What has just happened to my life, my
dreams, and my goals? Should I be angry or sad? Is it possible to feel both at
the same time? Will my next trip be to the city dump? Or will I see that smiling
pair of mine once again? Will I make it through this? Is this how things will
end for me?
My hate for those police uniforms is ever growing
and I only desire to see the familiar faces of my parents. I feel as if I have
landed on some other universe or on some other world, and the only familiar
thing left is my stupid biology book! Once again the rookie police uniform
begins to speak. He may as well be speaking another language as far as I’m
concerned, because I hear only mumbling as I continue to read about single-cell
organisms. Soon enough my mind fills with new interpretations of my present
situation : ‘Am I just visiting the life of someone else? Maybe it’s all a
dream…no, not a dream-a nightmare’. The only thought I can process is the one
telling me not to cry.
So, here I am, yea, still in the big blue
wastebasket. I wish to be in my sock drawer again, where I understand things,
and where I have power and prestige. Is this real? How did this happen to me? I
try to be good. I am sure never to get stuck in the dryer or to fall down around
the ankles when I am being worn, and I even help the lost socks in the drawer
find back their pairs! Surely, this is a mistake! I’m better than this place. I
most definitely do not deserve to be here. I’m a good sock. I am not supposed to
be here-not here in the big blue wastebasket.
What seems like decades go by before I meet again
with my parents. Yet, they don’t seem the same as I had remembered them. Is
nothing except that single-cell organism in my biology book the same as it used
to be? Something is different about my parents, but I can’t put my finger on it.
It’s been hours now since the police uniforms brought their sea of unfamiliar
faces into my life, and I can’t take it any longer. I close my door and call my
best friend on the phone. He talks all night and seems to be the only familiar
face left in my now unfamiliar world. He refuses to sleep until I do.
The days go by and so do the questions about my
brother and my family. I have had my fill of sympathy and I wish to be treated
normally once again. I am not in jail, so why punish me? I don’t deserve this!
As I read the articles in the newspaper and watch his picture flash on the
television screen, tears rush down my face. But days go by and so do my tears
and my anger.
So, here I am. Yea, you guessed it-I am
still lost in the big blue wastebasket. But, one day at a time, I say. I’ve made
new friends here, but I still long to see the old. Oh how I wish to be back,
back to my familiar sock drawer. I think I will find it soon-I will find the
reason for my trip to the wastebasket, because life goes on, even without me in
the sock drawer. Maybe when I do go back, I can bring new lessons learned and
new dreams in life.
The final hearing and the courtroom are waiting for
me. I pack up my books and wait for my dad to pick me up from school and take me
to a place I know all too well. If you ask me now, I will swear to you that the
anger and pain are gone, but that’s a lie. I hate my brother. I hate him for
being in the papers and on the news. I hate him for making my mom cry. I hate
him for becoming just another unfamiliar face, but I hate him the most for
screwing with my life. I hate visiting him in jail, and I think I hate my
parents for forgiving him. I hope he hurts like I do-not physically and not even
emotionally…you know that place deep inside where you keep those you love? Well,
I hope he hurts there, and I wish I could stick a knife in there, just to make
sure he knows how I feel.
On my way into the courthouse my anger consumes me.
I feel as if I can’t walk one more step. My face burns with rage and my body
shakes under the overwhelming power of hatred. But something pushes me along-
maybe it is that place deep inside of me. As I approach the courtroom, I unzip
my backpack and empty my pockets for the metal detectors. I know this process
all too well. Another unfamiliar face permits me to enter through the metal
detector and soon I am embraced by the loving arms of those who are still
familiar to me. I cautiously enter the great room, and still filled with almost
unbearable anger, I sit on the cold wooden bench surrounded by the people who
love me, my parents, and even my brother.
As the judge enters the room, something comes over
me. My anger is gone, and I am filled with love and hope. I see my brother and
find myself in prayer for him. He stands before the judge without an ounce of
pride left. His weak body looks so frail and tired. ‘Please, God, please hear my
little voice now. Please, my Savior, bring protection to him now. Heal my heart,
protect my big brother, whom I love so deeply it hurts.’ Those words repeat over
and over in my head. I think an angel was sitting right next to me on that cold
wood bench.
So, here I am. No, not still in the big
blue wastebasket, but back home in my good old sock drawer. Someone just reached
in and pulled me out of the wastebasket and lovingly placed me here! So, my time
has not yet come to leave this place, but when it does, I will be able to
approach it with courage and strength. I now understand my purpose here-it isn’t
just to stay clean and not roll down around the ankles-it goes way beyond that!
I am a different sock now, and the sock drawer is better for letting me go.
Sometimes we socks are just sent to the big blue wastebasket to learn a lesson!
And to tell you the truth, I wouldn’t give up that experience in the
wastebasket, not for anything!
For your encouragement,
Laura Kay Young
|
Laura Kay Young
http://www.amourningdevotional.com
Mourning Glory – A Devotional for
Grieving is a book for
helping those struggling through a loss and looking for support and
comfort.
Laura is an architectural student at the
University of New Mexico. |
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