A Diamond in a brown box

Jamila lived across the street from me for ten years. I've watched Jamila grow through several different transitions in her life; my favorite was seeing her embrace her happiness. The joy of having visitors, living life with them, and spending the holidays with family and friends. Jamila and I met when she was seventeen. I helped her walk her furry pet family member, who was named GraceGrace. GG, for short, was a golden baby doodle at the time; he was utterly adorable. The cutest pup on the block, I'd always say as I watched her walk her dog from afar.

Over the years, Jamila and I grew apart; you see, there was a considerable age difference; she was a teenager going to college. I was an entrepreneur running my first home-based business. Jamila would often ask me to join her and GG for a walk down the street for advice after she and her parents didn't see eye to eye regarding the particular choice of her focus. You see, her parents have firm beliefs where they follow the spiritual teaching; she thought it was too strict. I thought they served her a divine purpose to prepare her and shape her life for the better. Jamila didn't see it that way. Jamila felt her parents didn't understand, but she didn't see was that her parents understood far more than she knew. Mr. and Mrs. Cross lived complex lives; they both made mistakes before they formed a marriage. Her parents were hoping to get her to understand that living for the world is dangerous; living for faith, obedience, and character will lead her down a path where she wouldn't face unnecessary pain. Jamila didn't like the advice; she felt the urge to want attention. In which I heard that she didn't feel love or cherished at home. Jamila stormed off after I shared the value of listening, listening to understand, and not listening to respond; she thought that I was playing the role of her parents, at least that's what Mrs. Cross expressed to me. I thanked her for clearing things up, and I found that its time steps back to deepen my knowledge in my start-up. But I didn't know that Jamila would be the reason I became a self-expression grief coach.

Over the next few years, Jamila moved away for college; we didn't speak after the day she ran away with GG. Her mother and I kept in touch; her parents were very concerned; however, they didn't let their concerns change the course of their lives. I thought to myself, my gosh, these people are so strong and loving. I hope all is well. Mrs. and Mr. Cross's 20th anniversary was approaching in spring. They are traveling to see the world; she says I was amazed to see the spark in her eyes and hear all about the plans she and her husband have made. I was inspired to create a fantastic painting book to take with her on her travels to share all about their memories and have their very own book as a promise that their love is fun, safe, warm, adventurous, and kind. You see, I'm an art major where I run a home-based business helping many people from toddlers to elderly adults find their self express after traumatic events. We paint, we use music therapy, and we write.

I invited Mrs. and Mr. Cross over to my work studio in the corner room of my home, surrounded by windows, natural light, artistic expression, and the countless letters I received from my challenging clients who were closed off at first. We talked about Jamila and how she's doing in college. The conversation was intense and mainly sad it sounds as Jamila misses GG. Jamila misses her parents and wishes she would've listened to them as now she finds that her parents were only there to protect her, not box her up into their world, still treating her as if she was a child. Truthfully I saw a different side of the Crosses that night, and honestly, it was needed considering that I moved across the state lines far away from family.

One day on a rainy night, I saw the light on across the way at Jamila's residence. I thought that's strange. I dropped off the Crosses last week at the airport, so I go across the way; they gave me a key to take care of GG and get whatever I need to keep him comfortable. As terrified as I was, I didn't know what to expect; I thought to myself, Who could be there? Jamila's off to college; could it be a thief? I take the key and GG with me. GG raw out of my hands; all I could hear is his bark and see is his lease getting tangled under his legs.

I'm freaking out. I didn't know what to do. Suddenly Jamila opens the door he jumps on her, they are both so happy; honestly, my heart dropped when I saw her. I saw her in baggy clothes, she looked different, she looked tired, her face seemed to appear more chubby, I saw a pudge near her stomach, Jamila eyes locked with mines and looked as if she saw a ghost. Jamila, what are you doing here? Forgetting that she has a right to be at her own home, she was supposed to be at college. Stephanie, she said I'm so sorry I didn't listen to you; you were right, you, Mom, Dad, you were all right. She cried into my arms, saying softly, I made a mistake. I don't know how to tell my Mom or Dad. Jamila, I said softly with compassion in my heart, what do you mean? As Jamila cried out, she said, " I'm six months pregnant, and the guy doesn't want to be a father " My heart dropped; I felt her pain, I cried with her and said, come on, let's go to my place and get you cleaned up.

Later that night, while we ate bolognese, I said to her, tomorrow we're going to see my good friend, who is an OBGYN. Are you okay with this, Jamila? Yes, she sobbed. I asked Jamila what I can do? She said nothing; I would like to take a nap. She and GG cuddled up in the guest room that's filled with many photos of me as a child, my family, and a hidden secret I never disclosed. As the night grew late, Jamila woke up and let GG out in my backyard, then she met me upstairs in my art room and was amazed.

Wow, Stephanie, did you paint all of these paintings? I laughed; heavens no, these are the painting of many people I've helped find their voice again. She looked at me puzzled, asking in an uncertain tone found their voice again? I walked over to Mr. Coppin's painting; Mr. Coppins lost a family member who inspired him to live life respectfully, with character and love, after not having both of his parents in his life. Mr. Coppins lost the love of his life, which led him to experience grief somewhat hard. You see, he stopped speaking, he stopped living, and when I met him, Mr. Coppins sat next to me always at the book store. One day out of nowhere, Mr. Coppins says I made him feel comfortable, the comfort he has not felt in a while. Mr. Coppins didn't go into detail, yet I knew he needed a hug, he needed love, and he was lost. Over the years, Mr. Coppins began to paint with me; as we painted, I felt the tension in his shoulders drop little by little; I felt the energy shift in the room where he saw color and purpose in his life. One day he came into the studio, and he said, I'm ready to speak now. I thought to myself, a breakthrough is on the rise of shaping his life. Mr. C shared a painting collage of his favorite person in the world and why this beautiful person, his grandmother, shaped his life. Each painting he painted carefully and with a heart of excellence; each color expressed emotion. As he spoke his story, I cried. I felt such joy in my heart; I felt his heart healing; I felt him overcoming the grief and stepping into a new being with a powerful purpose. Now you see Jamila, this painting you see here represents the first time we meet. This bookstore I love so much, an excellent memory for both of us.

As Jamila looked around and I shared more stories about all the unique individuals who shared the depths of their hearts, she asked me Stephaine, where's your painting? You've attracted hurt people who had a breakthrough while painting. But what about you? What's your story? Why do you paint?

I sat down in my chair, deeply sighed before I could tell Jamila the truth about me. There was a hard knock at the door; I heard someone with a deep masculine raspy voice saying package. GraceGrace proceeds to run down the stairs, and I stopped talking and said, let's see who's at the door and grab some tea and make us a charcuterie board before we talk about me. Jamila and I went downstairs to answer the door; we see ten different packages; they were small brown boxes that were colored coded. I thought, this is mighty strange; they are pretty small to be canvas. Jamila instantly said I know this writing, here this one. I remember this painting style from when I was a child; Mom and dad would make crafts to cheer me up after we argued.

I grabbed my tout on my porch where I bring packages from outside; we sat by the window, and I opened one of the brown boxes color-coded in purple addressed to me. It's souvenirs and a letter from Jamila's parents expressing how happy they are to have met me and how they cherish our relationship. Jamila's Mom took the lead in the letter, and she asked me to give her family love and grace, take care of her daughter, and help her husband heal. You see, Jamila's Mom was dying, and I did not know. Only her husband knew as she didn't want to hurt Jamila or cause her to worry. She says, please protect each box with care over the next few years. Jamila will have one card per special occasion where I will express my heart to her so that she will be able to have me there with her although I won't return to her. She described the brown box with Jamila in color, the artsy that caught Jamila's eye; she instructed to save this one for when she carries a child as it will have more in store to equip her for this moment in her life.