When I stood in the shadow of the Berlin Wall, painted in rusty tears and rebar, I could feel the anguish of ages past and not so long ago. I remember when it fell in November of ’89, the collective joy of a people imprisoned by its menace for 28 years.


But I couldn’t understand then or now what it must have felt like to live within its confine,  a concrete sentry cruelly taunting anyone to cross his path.  No one really knows how many accepted his dare and succeeded; but 192 died or were murdered in failed attempts.  


I stood there, free, with my family, wondering how different life would feel if I wasn’t free to stand there with my family…what it would feel like to raise children born in a prison with only a glimmer of hope to escape.  I thanked God that by His grace I didn’t have to know what it felt like. 


On November 9, 1989 The Wall fell and people rejoiced and the dead were vindicated of a crime they never commited.  Their spirits dance through hollows burrowed out by the people they left behind, having a last laugh that echoes in history’s ear.


The Wall tells ten thousand stories.  I’d love to hear them all.  

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Written in response to Lisa Jo’s Five Minute Friday prompt this week, “Story.”


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