~Grandpa

Grandpa built the treehouse.

The treehouse was sturdy. Even if the wind was strong, it never moved.
The different levels were firmly settled between the big, strong branches and there was always enough space for many excited children to dream and imagine.
The ladder that touched from grass to first floor was well worn.
The swing that hung from the highest branches always had a different use - a rocketship to outer space...a rescue winch for those swimming on the grass below...a race car that nearly wins...a secret entrance to a different land.
The leaves that covered the treehouse floor were big and green.
The treehouse was always a safe place.

Grandpa built the treehouse.

In the treehouse, the mind was free to run wild! You could be a spy, documenting each car that passed by on the road. You could be a fireman, having to shimmy down the outside of the tree to resuce the leaves that had fallen. You could be a gourmet chef, serving up the best branches and twigs in town. You could even be an alien coming down from your spaceship that crashed in the tree.

Grandpa built the treehouse.

He got the planks, he cut the wire, he nailed in the ladder, he strung up the rope and he found the cushions. Grandpa even had a small case of toys set aside that were essential for any treehouse storyline. Grandpa would be your partner in crime, Grandpa would be your fellow spy, Grandpa would be the fire truck driver and the spaceship navigator. Grandpa would be the police, the villain and the victim. Grandpa was always part of the story.

Grandpa built the treehouse.

Grandpa and the treehouse are now gone, but the imagination is not.....thank you Grandpa.

Gift.

I stood in line. Standing, standing, standing...along with everyone else, I waited. The line moved slowly. One at a time, the man at the front handed everyone a box. Each box looked different - I could see different colours, shapes and sizes. I wondered what was in them. I wondered what mine would look like.
The line kept moving, I could see how happy the guy with the boxes was. He was ecstatic almost! This guy, who was freely giving away these things to people who didn't ask for them - and from what i could hear, didn't always say "thank you" - was incredibly happy and enthusiastic. As I got closer I could hear what he was saying to each person.

"This is just for you! It's totally unique and fits only your personality. I really hope you use it well and enjoy it!"
"I put this together with only you in mind. I knew it would fit you just right - I look forward to seeing you use it!"
"I really am excited about giving this gift to you - I'm looking forward to seeing you put it to great use!"

...so it's a gift. Each box has a gift in it. This guy is giving everyone free gifts! I LOVE free gifts! Free anything is awesome! And from what he's saying, they're great and really specific gifts!
As the line moved on and it got closer to my turn, my anticipation grew. What would this guy have picked out for me? What would my gift look like? The suspense was almost too much. The girl in front of me got a long and heavy looking bright canary yellow box. She smiled at the guy and moved on....my turn!

"This is yours. I really hope you'll enjoy it - I knew it was just for you, and I'm so excited to watch you use it! Enjoy." the guy said with a huge grin. I looked at the box. It was small, with curved edges. It was a soft shade of sunset red, but it felt like there was nothing in it. I looked up at his smiling face.
"That's it? What do I do with this thing?" I asked...a bit rude, yes I know. The guy just winked.
"I thought you'd never ask..."

Burn with a flame

They say we do what we love - we throw ourselves whole-heartedly into the things in which our passion lies strongest.

The dancer learns every move to absolute perfection. She practices for hours each day. She makes sure her body is healthy. When she moves across the floor, lost in the tempo and sound, she is happy. She is complete. She is home.
The basketballer spends hours on the court. He pictures every move and every shot. He studies the skills of the opposition. When he races down the court, the crowd cheering him on, he is fulfilled. He is at peace. He is home.

Beauty lies in this passion.
But what if we change the picture? What happens if we change what they love - dance and basketball - to things that they do for the One they love? Who is she dancing for? Who is he playing for? Who is her teacher? Who is his coach? Who is it that is praised when they display their talents for others to see?

Concrete.

Damn this concrete! Who put it here where I'm trying to walk? I always find I spend so much time chipping away at the concrete, trying to get free that I end up being stuck there longer than is really necessary. All the while I'm trying to smash the wretched stuff when all I had to do was ask for help. If only I stopped thrashing about for one second, I would firstly stop looking like a moron and secondly, would be able to see that guy over there with a sledge hammer. Yeah the guy standing nearby watching with a weird expression on his face wondering what it is I'm doing trying to get out of the concrete on my lonesome. Why dont you ask him for help? He has a hammer! While the rest of the world continued on its tiresome merry-go-round, this guy stood there the entire time wondering when I was going to ask for help. Apparently he knows I will ask eventually. He didn't keep walking like everyone else. Actually...he looks familiar somehow. Like someone I know but then forgot when it was my turn to phone him. He gets closer...wow, he is familiar! Where do I know him from? That smile...those eyes. I badly tried pulling a memory out of a dusty corner in my mind when the concrete split open and I was free. Never have I felt so free before! It's amazing - I can finally walk around, I can finally get a proper footing, I can finally be me. But wait...this guy. Still smiling, he slings that sledge hammer over one shoulder and winks at me.
"See you next time." He says and watches me start to walk off to catch up to everyone else. Next time? You've got to be kidding me if you think I'm going to be walking where there's concrete! I'm riding a bike from now one - I'm smart, I know what I'm doing.
"Thanks for your help, but there won't be a next time. I won't need you again." I say. He just smiles at me. I still can't remember where I know him from. But now that I'm free from the concrete, I'm off to jump back on that merry-go-round...finally able to be who I am!
...who WAS that guy?!