A long time ago, in a land far, far away there was a young girl whose dreams and aspirations could not be held in her little box of adventures; her name was Freedom.
If there was one thing to be clarified about Freedom, besides that she lived with her grandmother and had a big heart, it was that she was not shy. As she ran through the fields and crossed the waters, she would always shout from the top of her lungs, until she was completely out of breath: “Hold on tight, you there! Freedom is coming!”
Throughout the land many would consider her cry and her acting inappropriate as it disagreed with the king‘s view taught through many generations. Nobody knew how she had received that name as it had been banned from the dictionaries and books so long ago. Not one of the elders would dare to pronounce it under the fear of being considered defiant by the king of the land. That was a name of the past; a sadly forgotten past.
But that did not bother Freedom. She knew she was different, although there was nothing really special about her appearance. She was not able to explain how, but she had this burden in her heart to perform great things for her people, and an assurance that one day, somehow, she would get it done. That was what she lived for.
On her way home, Freedom stopped by the river and gazed as some young and old ladies washed their clothes in its clear water. Thinking of it as an extraordinary opportunity to care for the little ones who had to wait for their mothers and grandmothers without complaints, she engaged them in games and fun. When time came for her to depart, she brought them back to the river and with the motion of a hand waved her customary good-bye shouting out loud the words “Hold on tight, little ones! Freedom will be back!”
Then the next stop was at the Turners’ farm, where she helped her little friend Chanel to feed all the animals, which included horses, cats, dogs, pigs and chickens. Freedom knew that four hands were stronger than two and could probably do the work much faster, so that was enough to encourage her to come to the aid of her dear friend. With their efforts put together, the two girls were successfully finished in no time and could enjoy a few hours playing around the farm.
Finally, she approached Mrs. Curly’s house. Freedom knew that Mrs. Curly would be baking her bread at the same time every afternoon, but age was dragging her into carelessness, and to make sure the bread would not get burned, Freedom would pretend a short visit and then remind Mrs. Curly to check her bread. After the bread was taken out of the wood oven, Freedom would always make the same comment before her departure, “Hold on tight, Mrs. Curly! Freedom will come back!” That was always very helpful and for which Mr. Curly would hold a special feeling towards that thoughtful young girl. Freedom wondered why Mr. Curly would not join her or even replace her in that task. He explained that making bread was useless, an effort without a reward, as the king would always provide them with something to eat from day to day.
One day, Freedom found a box full of what looked like letters under her grandmother’s bed. Among them there was a yellow paper carefully folded in four. It was an old and dusty letter that had been written years and years ago by her grandmother’s grandpa, and in it a poem entitled “The Freedom of My Days.” It talked about a time when the people of his land conquered some kind of a gift called “freedom” and paid for it with their own lives. Back then, they had the right to express themselves, worship the True God who was not the current king of the land and whose instructions, left in a special kind of book, would guide everyone in their duties to please Him and help others to conquer victory. And at that time, the people could choose their king, someone who would lead them in peace and justice, someone who would act as a representative of the people.
That was mind blowing for Freedom. She had never heard of such a thing. Next, the poem spoke about the danger the people were facing as they chose not to teach their children their values and customs. Instead, parents began trusting the raising of their children to the care of the king and his governors, which was promoted as a great and fashionable deed. Many parents quit working as hard, and some didn’t work at all, as the king provided them with all the support they needed to live—without their kids around to annoy them—which made them loyal to the king and his compassion. The people began to forget about their God’s Truth and the joy that comes from raising virtuous children. Then the final part reminded Freedom of her own time. It mentioned the need for a hero to rise against the conformed minds, one who would promote the forgotten truth once again amongst the enslaved minds, and encourage them to pursue “real freedom”, which was always near.
Freedom pondered these things in her heart. If there was indeed a time when truth was different from the king’s unquestionable truth, and people could actually think and share their views without being punished by the king, or people were helpful and loving to one another because of the lessons they were taught by their parents, how could they have turned into this apathetic group of lazy bodies, always waiting for the king’s provision?
Instantly, Freedom realized she did not belong to her land and time. Her heart longed for that same gift lost in the past. The idea of her king not being the True God was overwhelming but at the same time it made so much sense, even in the mind of a young girl like Freedom. The difference between Freedom and all the others was that she believed that she had been called for something greater. She could think, she could dream, and she could act on it. Even if she had to do it all alone, and become the hero that would change the story of her people forever, Freedom knew she could not silence her call.
Getting on her feet, Freedom looked up and with excitement let out her cry of war:
“Hold on tight, you there! I can pay the price! I am Freedom, and Freedom is coming back!”
You can also make a difference in your lifetime.