Early in my career as a mother, I recall a precise moment in time where I stood, wagging a finger at my then four-year-old daughter for breaking a treasured cut glass vase as she bounced a forbidden basketball in the family room. I yelled at the top of my lungs in absolute frustration and anger like a crazed Tasmanian she-devil.
And as I raged on and on, I caught a glimpse of myself in the window beside me. It was not a pretty sight. My face was all snarled up like a twisted pretzel. My hands were shaking and fisted, taking on the appearance of a prizefighter’s. I took a step backward and then forward again just to make sure it was me I was seeing, and not some half-crazed serial killer. All that misplaced rage – and for what? A piece of broken glass?
That vase was not the only thing shattered. My daughter’s heart was, too.
Remember the Disney™ movie, Beauty and the Beast? Do you recall the part where the heroine, Belle, was defending her ugly friend to the town’s people as they threatened to kill him? Belle pleaded with the crowd, telling them that her friend may indeed look terrifying, but he was really sweet and kind on the inside. She then held up a magic mirror and begged it, “Show me the beast!” The reflection showed a growling, hysterical creature with matted hair and sharp, glowing fangs. I’m sure it was hard for the throngs of fearful people to imagine that the beast ever had a heart at all, and they were more afraid than ever.
YOU MIGHT BE INTERESTED IN