Revelation
One
On Friday, March 7, 2008, at approximately 8:40 AM, the eighth grade students at Winterfield Junior High School were rounded up by their second hour classes and herded into the auditorium for an assembly few knew the subject of (even fewer knew that there was going to be an assembly at all). Piled into every available seat, the students sat and talked with their friends who they somehow managed to sit by through all of the chaos. After a moment, the principal - Ms. Ross - stands up on stage and introduces a man few of us have ever heard of, though we are all familiar with his famous series of books, titled Chicken Soup for the Soul.
Throughout the next hour, the eighth graders were glued to their seats. Nobody spoke out of turn, nobody laughed or made fun of the guest speaker - surprisingly, they all behaved rather well. At the end of the hour, everyone had been touched in one way or another. A story told had spoken to them; each student had actually heard what was trying to be said. They understood the message that was portrayed to them, which was a first for many.
Cut scene to a young girl, in the back middle section, third from the right lane. Sitting with her piles of textbooks and folders (she’s always one to carry loads of supplies with her) stacked neatly on her lap. She’s staring intently at the stage, her fingers intertwined on top of her planner. Softly, she reached a hand up to her face to sweep some stray brown bangs out of her eyes. At the end of a short story about a girl whose life was saved by a senior boy’s small actions of kindness towards her, her eyes start to water. Her eyes flick to the left and to the right, small tears threatening to escape as she searches for anyone who might be watching her. Everyone knows that she isn’t the most emotional person in the world; she’s even been called ‘indifferent to life’. She knew that people would laugh at her if they knew the emotions she felt at that moment. Then it dawned on her, the same as how it had with the story: she didn’t care. Why should she care what other people think of her? She most likely won’t stay in close contact with any of them after the next four years, and her life doesn’t depend upon the reactions of others. She had always thought that crying was sign of weakness - and she didn’t want to appear weak - but now that a new concept has sprung into her head, one that will definitely change her for the better, she couldn’t care less about how she appeared to others.
At this new revelation came a deflation in ego. She thought she was a good person. Above most other people in the school, she thought that she was a better citizen than most other students that went to her particular school. But compared to these courageous people that the guest speaker was talking about, she was nothing special. Did she even have the courage to help and inspire others in the ways that she was being inspired now? She wasn’t sure.
As the presentation came to a close and the guest speaker walked offstage, she felt guilty. How could she possibly think she was a contributor to her community if she barely did anything for them? She felt slightly ashamed. Walking out of the auditorium and to her third hour classroom, the events of the past hour where whirling through her head. What it meant to her, how the assembly was different than any other she had ever been to, interpreting those precious words spoken to her beforehand.
One recurring thought: What can I do to change things around for the better?
Unknowingly, a revelation of epic proportions took place inside this young girl’s mind that day.
Throughout the next hour, the eighth graders were glued to their seats. Nobody spoke out of turn, nobody laughed or made fun of the guest speaker - surprisingly, they all behaved rather well. At the end of the hour, everyone had been touched in one way or another. A story told had spoken to them; each student had actually heard what was trying to be said. They understood the message that was portrayed to them, which was a first for many.
Cut scene to a young girl, in the back middle section, third from the right lane. Sitting with her piles of textbooks and folders (she’s always one to carry loads of supplies with her) stacked neatly on her lap. She’s staring intently at the stage, her fingers intertwined on top of her planner. Softly, she reached a hand up to her face to sweep some stray brown bangs out of her eyes. At the end of a short story about a girl whose life was saved by a senior boy’s small actions of kindness towards her, her eyes start to water. Her eyes flick to the left and to the right, small tears threatening to escape as she searches for anyone who might be watching her. Everyone knows that she isn’t the most emotional person in the world; she’s even been called ‘indifferent to life’. She knew that people would laugh at her if they knew the emotions she felt at that moment. Then it dawned on her, the same as how it had with the story: she didn’t care. Why should she care what other people think of her? She most likely won’t stay in close contact with any of them after the next four years, and her life doesn’t depend upon the reactions of others. She had always thought that crying was sign of weakness - and she didn’t want to appear weak - but now that a new concept has sprung into her head, one that will definitely change her for the better, she couldn’t care less about how she appeared to others.
At this new revelation came a deflation in ego. She thought she was a good person. Above most other people in the school, she thought that she was a better citizen than most other students that went to her particular school. But compared to these courageous people that the guest speaker was talking about, she was nothing special. Did she even have the courage to help and inspire others in the ways that she was being inspired now? She wasn’t sure.
As the presentation came to a close and the guest speaker walked offstage, she felt guilty. How could she possibly think she was a contributor to her community if she barely did anything for them? She felt slightly ashamed. Walking out of the auditorium and to her third hour classroom, the events of the past hour where whirling through her head. What it meant to her, how the assembly was different than any other she had ever been to, interpreting those precious words spoken to her beforehand.
One recurring thought: What can I do to change things around for the better?
Unknowingly, a revelation of epic proportions took place inside this young girl’s mind that day.
♠ ♠ ♠
Haha, I wrote this at 10-11:30 tonight, so I don't know if things are flowing well or what.Comments would be appreciated.
=]