Darkness surrounds her. Every breath she takes is a reminder of how lucky she is to be alive. She’s afraid, she’s scared, and wants to turn back. There is a wooden door in front of her. The door was built in the mid 1800s. The names of all the people who have walked through this door are carved on the door. Will her name be next?

Her hand slowly moves towards it. She barely turns the knob when the door slowly opens on its own. Every inch the door moves it creaks as if it is in pain. As if every creak is actually a scream for her to turn back. A gust of dust blows in her face. She steps into this unusual home. The only lighting it has is the light of a full moon shining right above the home. The furniture is like no furniture she has ever seen before. It is as if she has stepped back in time to early America. The chairs seem to have been carved by the hands of a God. The carpet so soft on her feet that all she wants to do is lie her face down on it and go to sleep, hoping, praying that all of this is just a bad dream.

But she has no time to engulf the beauty of what surrounds her; she must find what she came here for. Quickly, she runs to the nearest closet, hoping to find something to change into. As she looks down she realizes how tattered her clothing is. The jeans she was given at the beginning of her journey look no more than old washcloths sewn together. Her t-shirt, well, it’s not much of a shirt now. She throws on a robe that seems to belong to a man three times her size. She looks for shoes to cover her badly beaten feet when she comes upon a glove. At that moment she remembers what she was told in the beginning, “Look for what is not right, for that will help you fix what is wrong.” This glove has been beaten torn and looks much worse than her feet. It was the glove of a man that built this home, but she doesn’t know that. To her and to probably most of us, it is an old glove that needs to be thrown away. She takes hold of the glove and for some reason something inside of her is not telling but commanding her to go to the trash can. Finding the trash can was not an easy task. It looked nothing like a can.

She gets off her knees and back onto her feet. There isn’t much light to find a trash can. She begins opening everything with a lid to see if it holds any trash. Her strategy seems to work when she finds a container in the shape of an upside down triangle with a flat bottom. This container is designed in a golden paint, she has only read about. The center is a bright sun looking down on a home. She wonders if the painting of the home is the home she is in right now. She diminishes her thought at once realizing that in the container is more than crumbled up papers. Inside is a pair of shoes. And in one of the shoes is a letter. And the letter said…