Ever since I was a child, there has been a standard in my house of the things we could and couldn’t say. We didn’t talk about the crazy, unreasonable, wonderful dreams that occupy your mind in the middle of the night. We never spoke about our deep, personal feelings. We never talked about doubts or family secrets. Our dinnertime conversations were limited mainly to schoolwork and the weather for a majority of my childhood.

We never, ever, ever spoke of our dreams in my family, unless they were common and reasonable, such as becoming a doctor or an accountant or any other nine to five jobs. Dreams that were risky and marvelous were completely out of the question. Why waste your thoughts on an impossible dream that will never come true? It was an awful way to live.

Feelings were another off limits topic. You didn’t speak of how terrible your day was because someone was fighting a harder battle than you were. You didn’t talk about feelings because they were scary and unpredictable. You kept it inside because no matter how much you hurt, someone else felt a whole lot worse.

Now, I’m not saying my parents weren’t good parents. In fact, they were the best. They spoiled us kids rotten. But, I’ve learned, the way we were taught to think and to behave gave me a heart of glass, easily breakable and clean of assistance of others. I entered high school with a false belief that no one out there cared how I felt, that my feelings didn’t matter. I kept all my feelings bottled up inside. I lived the way I was taught to live, ignoring my dreams and my feelings and all of my doubts. I was positively miserable.
Then, I met them. They were a rowdy group of teenagers with hearts of service and a love for the Lord. Each knew every secret about the other and they loved each other like siblings. The bond holding this group together was as unbreakable as anything I’d ever seen before. I feel in love instantly. It didn’t take a lot to become a part of this group. You just had to open your soul to these complete strangers. Needless to say, it was hard for me.
In these past four years, I’ve grown more than in the other twelve years of my existence. I’ve learned that my feelings do matter, that other people do care. I’ve learned how to love and how to be loved. I’ve learned to cry and to feel. Most importantly, I’ve learned to dream. What a strange trip it’s been these past few years.
In these past four years, my heart of glass has taken a whole new meaning. It is no longer as fragile as before. Now, I have learned it resembles stained glass, beautiful and complicated, but not constructed just by one. My glass heart has been molded and shaped into what it is today by the love and compassion of others I finally let in.