Where the Sledge Hammer and Pry Bar Once Ruled OLD POST


It was a day like any other. From my acclivitous station on the street, I saw them coming. I wondered what mission these men were on as they continued to approach; steel toes, hard hats and tools in hand. I didn’t recognize them so I assumed they must be headed to another. To my surprise, I was indeed their intended doorstep.

Apparently someone must have given them access to my entry because they unlocked my doors with ease. Suddenly, I felt vulnerable and betrayed; for only my owner had the key. How could he grant access into my four walls without my consent? And to strangers?! How could he?

Not a word did they say to me; I found that to be rude. Instead, they seemed to be taking orders by phone from one I couldn’t see. They talked amongst themselves as they pointed and measured this way and that; and then they were gone.

The next day they reappeared. This time there were more. They entered as before and soon began to break down my walls and tear up my interior! I screamed and cried out for them to stop, but they paid me no mind. My fixtures that I was most proud of were the very ones they demolished. The pain was unbearable.

How could the one who sacrificed so much to claim me allow me to feel so much pain? How could the one who had always been so diligent in my upkeep through the years; the one who had invested so much time and effort into my existence and seemed so proud to call me “his own,” let me down?

Was he not the one who spent hours each week pulling up weeds and pruning the hedges that surrounded me? How could he now hand me over to these strangers who were plotting how best to break me down, pry open hidden areas, and expose the dirt beneath my impressive finish? Didn’t they know that my self-worth was wrapped up in my design? It didn’t make any sense and I felt so unloved. What was I to do with all this pain?

Where was my owner? He seemed to have disappeared just before this strange work began.

Many tears I shed that night as I look around at the mess left behind after each labourer returned to his home. I looked across the street at the other houses. I wondered if any could relate to my pain. Probably not, for they all looked so well put together, at least externally.

I felt so terrible inside. What a mess! Instead of beautiful fixtures, there were ruins, pain, and so much dust I could barely breathe. I couldn’t understand it. The more I tried, the more confused I became. I mourned for what once was; for I knew I would never be the same again.

Many days went by, and with each day, the pain got a little lighter, and the mess become a little less visible. As the dust settled, I began to see new things shaping up in areas where the sledge hammer and pry bar once ruled.

These men, who had seemed so ruthless once upon a time, now created such beauty I could never have imagined! When the work was complete I marveled. Who knew such immeasurable beauty could come from so much pain? Who knew this much greatness was hidden inside of me? Who knew I had so much potential masked under the mediocrity I had settled for all my life? Who knew? It must have been the One who gave up all he had just to purchase my deed.


Written By: Vimbai Chikomo

Vimbai E. Chikomo is a freelance writer and blogger (www.faithinreality.com and www.theweightshecarries.com). Her articles have been published in various publications, and she is currently putting the finishing touches on her first novel.