©To a female slave — even a young one — every step in the Big House, (home of the master), was wrought with danger. If she wandered into the wrong room, she could easily fall prey to unwanted advances, advances her station in life wouldn’t allow her to refuse. A poorly inflected response could lead to a slap or a punch … or a tongue being removed. If the lady of the house sensed her husband had eyes for the slave, from that day to her last, the hell she had lived in up to that point would pale in comparison to the one she –through no fault of her own – had just entered. Such was the plight of Harriet Tubman who at the tender age of eight arrived on the doorstep of her mistress, leaving “childhood” behind, stepping fully into the jaws of slavery.

Her duties varied. From emptying urinals in the morning to tending babies who cried while parents rested to gathering firewood on cold nights to keep the house warm. Harriet did all these things and more, but when it came to actual housework, she left much to be desired.  She failed miserably due in large part to her age and lack of familiarity. Excuses didn’t matter and each time her work missed the mark, the mistress mercilessly lashed her tiny body. With no hint of improvement in sight, Harriet was sent outdoors to do work, “more befitting” of her type.

Her first assignment was making daily treks into creeks and swamps to empty muskrat traps. For the better part of a year, she spent her days wading into the water – at certain points freezing cold while at others, teeming with blood thirsty mosquitoes — to retrieve muskrats or whatever treasures the traps held. Even for a skilled hunter, clearing them could be a challenge, but young Harriet proved to be up to the task.

With the traps mastered, she joined her father and his crew, clearing the wooded land surrounding the plantation to make more room for crops. From first light to last, they toiled away making space that they knew one day – a close friend or loved one – would spend their day toiling away in a different way. Once a tree was failed, the men chopped it into firewood. Too small for an axe, Harriet carried the firewood up and down the hill leading back to the plantation. All day, every single day, she made trip after trip. By the time she cleared a load, another waited, and back up and down the hill with another armful she went …

More time passed and Harriet was given an axe thus bringing her deeper into the fold. A teenager working alongside men twice her age, she did as much and sometimes more than any. Harriet became an expert axe man, angling her tool just the right way, each thud emitting more power than the one before.

The last step in the clearing process meant removing the stumps the fallen trees once called home. Ropes and horses were brought in, but the crew was just as integral a part. They sweated, kicked, grunted, and uprooted stubborn stump after stubborn stump … and Harriet was right there with them … sweating…kicking … grunting, and pulling with all of her might. Each time, just as the team felt they had no more to give, the stump parted ways with the ground.

***

On the night she ran to freedom, there stood Harriet gazing into the darkness, just as she had done on so many occasions when she was forced to walk into the chilly night to gather wood. No longer a little girl, but a force. No longer a little girl but a force with a powerful, sturdy frame, rippling with sinewy, shredded muscles. The mind that once authored timid, awkward, unsure movements now emitted confidence and burned with the fighting fuel she’d need for the journey that was to come.

Her first confrontation was with an icy cold creek. Without hesitating she walked into it just as she had done so many times before as a small girl clearing vermin from traps. Out of the water she came and there stood the first of many hills. She scaled it with ease as it paled in comparison to the ones she faced while carrying endless loads of firewood.

Thick, untamed brush was known to slow many a runaway, but not this one – not this one, the one with the well-muscled arms borne from countless swings of a heavy axe. And when she felt as if she couldn’t go on, when she felt the urge to turn back, she remembered how on many occasions, the last pull, the one where her crew felt they had no more to give … turned out to be the one that defeated the stump.

As she walked into freedom, she smiled … then she glowed. She glowed as she realized that the thing, being sent outside to do work “more befitting,” the thing that for all the world looked as though it would break her — turned out to be just what she needed – to make her.

***

The summer before I was to begin my sophomore year of college, I was diagnosed with an extreme case of tendonitis. So extreme that the doctor thought of putting me in a cast, but we settled on a bulky harness instead. Working 10-12 hours a day as a temp-worker in a manufacturing plant had finally caught up to me and I was paying a heavy price. My health was concerning, but here was the bigger concern … I didn’t have student loans, financial aid, or a parent to pay my tuition … financing my education fell squarely on my shoulders. And there I was, injured, broke, and out of work with the start of another school year, looming. I was barely scraping by and then this happened.

As I sat there day after day watching soap operas, game shows, and reruns … I rested. My body healed and I gained perspective. Out of nowhere, a call with another temporary manufacturing assignment offer came through and although I was leery, I accepted the position. In time I learned that the temporary assignment at the company I was previously working at, the one where I sustained my injury, was never going to convert to a permanent position. In time, my new temporary assignment became a permanent job with the kind of wages I needed to pay my tuition. In time, my new temporary assignment became a permanent job where I learned life lessons that pushed me from boy to man.

I loved that job. Worked there for 10 years and met co-workers who became friends who are now more like family. The beauty of it all is that I would never have gotten there had it not been for that excruciating bout with tendonitis … the thing that for all the world looked as though it would break me … but turned out to be just what I needed … to make me.

***

In all of our lives, a something, a someone, a place, or a thing has at some point been sent to break us. I’ve had several, too many to count, some so tragic I didn’t even bother to give them a number. I used to storm off and ask why me and say things like woe is me. But that experience above taught me to slow down, it taught me to look high and low, to the left and to the right. Because in every situation that was sent to break me, there’s what I’ve come to call … the gift … of “make me.”

The next time life takes a turn that looks like it’s for the worst, looks like it could be the one that ends it all, instead of storming off, slow down. Look high and low, to the left and right until you find the gift. I promise you whatever it is that seems like it was sent to break you … is actually just what you need … to make you …