Monsters

Not my words today, but words from my little (not-so-little) sister, who is a sage one. Thanks for sharing this, Sister.

It's the middle of the night. The deep breathing of sleeping humans is scattered thruout the house. Until a child's waking cry breaks the silence. It grows louder until she succeeds to rouse the sister <me> next to her. 'What's the matter?' I ask. 'Why are u crying?'
'Monsters,' she whimpers. Just 'Monsters.'
'It's OK, baby,' I whisper back. 'It was just a dream. Monsters aren't real.'
How wrong I was.

 Everybody has at least one monster that makes its home under their bed. Some people call these monsters Satan. Some people call them Sin. Some people give them names like Pride and Selfishness and Mean-ness and Disobedience and Jealousy. I just call them monsters. These are not ordinary child-version monsters. These monters are not visible to the eye. Not tangible. But they are just as scary.
 This monster of mine can change its appreance. It can be huge or tiny. It can be red or it can be black. And it can do a myriad of different things. Sometimes this monster convinces me to do things I shouldn't do. It sees me talking and convinces me to get mad when I think someone else is wrong and I'm right. It sees me crying and convinces me that I have a harder life than other people. It sees me doing someone else's job and convinces me that I'm better than that someone else. It sees me at the mall and convinces me to wear clothes that are not approved of by my parents. It convinces me to think unkind thoughts about people and to treat them unkindly too. It sees me hurt and convinces me that maybe if I would have said and done something else than maybe my life would have turned out different. Better.
 But sometimes I fight this monster. Not by myself. If I try by myself it torments me worse. Instead I ask for the help of one certain Soldier. Together we can wound him and chase him away. But I always have to be careful because this monster never will die. It will keep on attacking me and convincing me to do wrong. The only way to keep him away is to follow my Soldier and do what he tells me.
 My own monster isn't the only one that can hurt me. Other people's monsters that live under their beds hurt me too. Sometimes they hurt me by convincing their person to say something mean. Or they convince their person to make up lies to take my little sisters away. But I can't blame these people. I also have a monster. And because our monters can change size and shape, no monster is worse or better than any other. I hate monsters.

Memories. Two little girls. Hugs. Temper tantrums. Kisses. Scratches. Mischievous glints in two pairs of sparkling eyes. Time outs. Wise words spoken solemnly (repeated after Daddy). A few hurtful words rashly shouted. Yes monsters are real. But love is also real. And stronger.