One evening, my niece pointed out a pimple that popped on my face, leaving some redness on my skin and some hint of blood. She asked, “What’s that red on your face? It’s red, and there’s blood. It hurts?”
It was rather an innocent question, but I can’t help think about how she associates one thing with another. It’s like a predetermined thought that redness on your skin with a hint of blood must hurt. And not only that, she is sure about this because she drew it out from her personal experience.
To some of us (and probably you reading this now), it’s easy to generalize about specific things when we relate them to our experiences. And it’s quite challenging to convince us otherwise.
When we are so absorbed by our preconceived notions about mostly everything, we can confidently say that red means hurt. But it takes humility to see that red is not always hurt or pain, or anger.
It takes humility to see that red could also mean love.
jessa 