American culture glorifies and idolizes beautiful and powerful people. The paparazzi gather at the door of Brad and Angelina, not at the cardboard boxes of the homeless or at the wheelchairs of the disabled. The beautiful are exalted but the broken are cast aside and forgotten.

Over the next several posts I am going to share a story of possibility, a story that shows what is possible when the broken are accepted rather than cast aside. I am calling this story “The Scars of a Friend” it is a condensed and adapted version of a story called “Catch-the-Wind” from a wonderful book by Lorraine Hartin-Gelardi called Wisdom in the Telling. Finding Inspiration and Grace in Traditional Folktales and Myths Retold.

So let’s begin the story of “The Scars of a Friend”

Once there was a village rooted in rugged, green hills that reached into the sea like stony fingers. Their rocky banks sheltered a busy harbor with ships that sailed to and from nearby ports. The people of this town were fair-minded and wished to live together peacefully. In the center of town, they constructed a simple tower made of four sturdy timbers, topped by a red-tiled roof. Inside the tower they hung a large bell with a rope that dangled onto the ground. Around the bell tower they placed a row of solid wooden benches. “Anyone of us who feels wronged can come and ring this bell,” the people declared. “When the bell rings, we will gather on these benches, listen to the person’s story, and settle the dispute.”

Outside of the village, perched on a hill that rose high above everything else, stood the magnificent house of the wealthy merchant Azhar. At the front of the house, two ornately carved wooden doors opened out onto a wide porch made of thick oak planks. Tall cedar pillars stretched from the porch like ancient trees to support the great tiled roof that capped the house. Azhar could hear the faint peals of the bell from that porch. He knew what the pealing of the bell meant and accepted its necessity, but he never joined the villagers. He preferred to stand on his porch and peer down into the town to observe the comings and goings of the people below.

Azhar surrounded himself with valuable things. His house was filled with fine brocades, gold and silver plates, exquisite works of art. Azhar was very proud of all these possessions, but nothing gave him more pleasure than his stable of horses. His stable was almost as grand as his house and contained the finest horses in the land. Each animal was a flawless specimen of a particular breed. All the stalls, save one, were filled. Azhar was still searching for the perfect horse to occupy the empty space.

Will Azhar find the perfect horse? If he does, how will it affect his life?

Next time: “The Meeting”