What if I told you?

One of my friend’s children is not well. They are suffering from severe anxiety and depression. I love this child to no end. They are incredibly special, wise beyond their years, beautiful, kind, and loving. They are also sensitive, with a heart that holds extraordinary love. That love-filled heart is a heavy burden for someone so young, and it is hard on them, oh so hard. I adore the mom more than I can say in words. She is a woman who listens with exceptional attention. On any given day, she can make anyone feel good. I hurt for the pain and fear they are walking through. I know that this is temporary. I know there will be light after this darkness. I believe in them more than words can express.

I recently sat at a culmination of one of our groups and listened to the students read their poetry. The writing prompt was “What if I told you…” 

The students got up and read their work. One by one, they blew me away with their honesty, humor, and vulnerability. As I listened to them read, I drifted off and thought of my friend’s child and how I wanted to say to her, “What if I told you that I know your future is bright?

What if I told you that you are insanely wonderful and I know you will pull through this? 

What if I told you that this is not going to be forever?
What if I told you that you were loved to no end?”

A 17-year-old girl stood up. She was beautiful and sweet. She was also 34 weeks pregnant. She was proud and confident and she read a beautiful poem about wanting to end the cycle of single parenthood in her family. She wanted to be the best mommy she could be and she ended the poem with “What if I told you that I am afraid to be a mommy?” Then she added, “What if I told you that I am happy to be afraid?”

I sat with that on my way home. I called my friend. I try to tell her all the things I want to tell her so there will be no what if I didn’t tell her. 

The pregnant young woman is about to graduate. She told me she worked really hard to finish school mid-year so she would be done before the baby came.
Ah, “What if I told you, you are brilliant?” I thought when she told me that. 

Then I told her, “That was really smart.”  She looked at me and said, “I know.”

The next day, I was inside a lock up facility. They call it “the compound.” Inside the probation camp, there is a jail inside the jail. It really doesn’t get any darker than that. The guys there all did horrible things. What if I told you that I am sure that horrible things were done to them?  

I tell a story and they make art.

We were sitting around one table drawing, and there were two cleaning people under the table next to us scrubbing the floor. There was a moment when I got up. There was a pause because I went to get something. In the most delicate of moments, the three guys started to gently, oh so gently, speak quietly in Spanish to the man and woman who were scrubbing the floor.

I don’t know what they talked about but in this crazy, cold room, where the metal stools are fixed and bolted to the tables, in this dark room where there is not a ray of outside light, just a stark fluorescent glow, there was the most human, deep connection. 

There was care, humility, and grace between the guys and the couple who were cleaning.

What if I told you that although the system tries to throw these kids away, I believe they are worthy.  My team and I tell them this and make them say it every week.  

I hope they hear us and hear themselves.

I ask the boys to draw their hearts and what’s inside them. One of them draws himself behind bars. Above the heart and around the heart are four faces, each with a bubble coming out of the mouths, saying something simple and funny. 

“I miss you. Come home.”

“Good luck in court. I love you.” 

“Just a couple more years and you got this.”

“These people, Ms., you see them?”  He points to the faces around his heart. “They hold my heart together.” Inside the heart he drew a huge crack. On one side were all the good things: family, homies, and his mom. He also drew the sun. On the other side were all the bad things: hatred, a broken heart, betrayal. He tells me the bad sometimes is more than the good, but he tries to let the sun on the good shine stronger.

What if I told you that my heart was touched when he shared his heart?

“Ms.,” the other one looked at me and said, “My heart is empty.” And he looked away.

“What would you like to fill it with?” I ask him.

 He looked at me. “Ms., don’t go asking me all them feeling questions.”

“Okay.” I tell him. And it gets really quiet.

What if I told you that the strongest feelings are sometimes in the quiet?

On the way home, I think again about my dear friend’s kid and of all things I think, feel and want to say to them.  I realize that I really don’t need to say anything.

I need to be. I need to listen. I need to wait patiently for them, when they are ready to actually tell me.