But if I say, “I will not mention his word or speak anymore in his name,” his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot. –Jeremiah 20:9, NIV
But he’s had it. He’s had enough of living such a crappy life.
Being a social worker was nothing much of the treat he expected. He was forced to travel an hour and a half through traffic on a tres potes-only to be treated like less than a human being. After that, he had to power through every nine-to-five weekday taking children away and giving vague warnings/promises to unsuspecting parents who weren’t even weary of breaking any child abuse laws. The slightest technicality forced him to report such conditions to the State and tell those parents that unless they wanted their kids to be taken to a “better home”, they had to clean up their act. Average social workers in the county could work at least twenty cases a week; because of budget cuts, he had to work fourty cases. But he was good at it; at least, he knew what was going on.
Around the block, people considered this guy as evil –or even worse- than a debt collector or a seedy lawyer. In his block alone, he had to report three negligent parents-and not that they meant to be. He was being hated, egged, tire-slashed, graffiti’ed, vandalized… You name the constant headaches. They treated him bad. And he was getting sick of it.
Someone rumored that some frustrated parents hired a frustrated drug dealer to “take him out”. Another guy said that people were trying to gun him down. Still others said that the Federal government was hacking his Facebook account. Even that wasn’t compared to those outlandish stories procreated by his resented ex-girlfriend, who said to her friends on Facebook that he was gay. People didn’t like him, not even his own family.
He had recurring bully dreams. Once, he dreamed that Mr. T was pushing him down a flight of stairs; some MMA fighter elbowed his face, and that old lady from Madagascar smacked his body with his cane. Another time, he dreamed that Zidane head-butted him while Fester electrocuted him and his ex-girlfriend slit his throat on the Metro.
All he could see were evil faces. Lying, cheating, conniving faces. Finger-pointing. Laughing. Deriding him, ridiculing him. It was too much, his pain was too much…
That is, until he woke up one day and gave God a piece of his mind.
-God, why are You letting me go through Hell? This is too much- work with me, too much! God, I just wish You’d listen to me! This is stupid –just stupid! Oh, You know I’m pissed! Yesterday, I could work my nine-to-five safely; now, I’m Public Enemy #1! Aren’t You supposed to be with me for like, ever!?!? Curse the stupid day I was born, curse that day…I don’t deserve this… People hate me for no stupid reason! Why are You letting this go through me? I’ve had enough, God, please… Please…
A candle in near his bedside table lit bright. As he was pleading, the flame from the candle grew brighter and brighter. His forehead was sweating blood. The glow in the room increased by the second. Of course he felt agony. Of course he felt pain. But something stirred throughout his soul…
He remembered those flames. Little bursts of energy climbing through the air. Fire has always amazed him: fire captivated him. The poor dude was no pyromaniac. But whatever he was feeling, it was real. And he knew as he gazed into that flame.
He saw man children, ding, hopeless. In his rapture, the guy saw all of those people who were making his life a living hell. He saw himself. He was happy, and smiling-for real! As he was walking, the social worker saw himself lending his right hand to his detractors. His face was glowing with such glory, that when his ex-girlfriend looked at him, she turned away in shame.
That’s when he said to them:
-What happened? I’m here to help you.
They looked at him like if someone hit him in his head.
-No, hehe, don’t worry; I’m not mad at you. Some weird fire came in and burned everything away. I don’t hate you anymore. I just want to be your friend.
He stretched out his hand toward them. They looked at him. Was he lying? Was he cheating? Was he going to take out his frustrations against them? They didn’t know, and believe me-they were scared. But his ex –the one whom belittled him as a “hopeless drug dealer”, the one who blamed him of having a “small package”, the same one who burned his kitchen because he didn’t give her money for a perm- shook his hand.
For the first time in his life, something inside burned of him. He felt peace, love, and empathy. There was something that consumed his heart completely. It slightly transformed him into someone else. Greater, calmer, meeker.
It was the fire shut up in his bones.