The Tug of War

“It’s mine!” the Child said, tugging and pulling on the Cherished Object.  “It’s mine and you can’t have it!”

            In the Child’s eyes, the Cherished Object was beautiful – smooth and shiny without any flaws.  Thin strings on her wrists connected her to her Cherished Object.  They would have been easy to break but she had no desire to do so.  And she knew that even though she loved it and wanted it, she somehow needed it too.

            And the Voice said, “You may have it until you have had it long enough and are ready to leave it behind.  I love you and I’m willing to take it, but first you must let it go.  I won’t fight you for it.”

            So the Child took the Cherished Object away, fully satisfied that she  won what she so desperately and rightfully wanted.

“It’s mine!” the Child said, tugging and pulling on the Cherished Object.  “It’s mine and you can’t have it!”

            And the Voice said, “You may have it until you have had it long enough and are ready to leave it behind.  I love you and I’m willing to take it, but first you must let it go.  I won’t fight you for it.”

            She looked down at her Cherished Object.  She had had it for awhile now and, although it was somewhat tarnished and bent, she still wanted it.  She loved it so much that she felt lonely and scared without it.

            The Others said, “You don’t really need it, and you probably don’t even love it as much as you think you do.  Why don’t you find a different one – one that serves you better?”

            The thin strings grew thicker and stronger, and although it would have taken more strength to break them, she still had no desire to do so.  And the Child wouldn’t listen.

“It’s mine!” the Child said, tugging and pulling on the Cherished Object.  “It’s mine and you can’t have it!”

            She looked at her Cherished Object.  It had become worn with age and it was broken in several places.  The sharp edges cut her fingers and hands and made them bleed.  But the more the Child thought of what it would be like without the Cherished Object, the more tightly she clung to it.  The thin rope had turned to these iron shackles that bruised her wrists.  They hurt her almost as much as the Cherished Object itself, but she felt hopeless and powerless against them.

            The Others said, “Look at how it hurts you and makes you bleed when you cling to it so tightly.  Surely you don’t want it anymore.”

And the Child listened but could not hear because Fear and Abandonment had wrapped their cloaks around her.  They covered her eyes so she could not see the broken places, and her ears so she could not hear the warnings, and her heart so she could not feel the pain.

            And the Voice said, “You may have it until you have had it long enough and are ready to leave it behind.  I love you and I’m willing to take it, but first you must let it go.  I won’t fight you for it.”

            “It’s mine,” said the Child, unsure of herself but stubborn.  This time, in trying to convince the Voice and the Others, the Child was also trying to convince herself.

            The Child looked at the object.  It had changed into an unrecognizable, putrid mess.  It was more than an Object with sharp edges – it had become dangerous to her.  Not only was it hurting her, but it had the power to kill.  Maybe not all of her all at once, but certainly bits and pieces of her in a long, tortuous, painful process.  The Others gathered around her and removed the cloak of Fear and Abandonment.  She could now see all the broken places, hear the message and feel the pain.  It was scary to the Child, but as her tears began to fall, the Others came closer to her, filling her with warmth, strength, courage and love.

            And the Voice said, “My Child, I have loved you enough to let you have your way, even though it has caused you pain.  If you will let me, I will free you from the burden and soothe your pain.  You are a Precious Child, and I want the very best for you.  But I cannot place my gifts in your hands until they are empty and ready and willing to receive.”

            And the Child said meekly, “Yes, I am ready.”

            And as she uttered these words, the shackles fell from her wrists.  She looked at the Cherished Object once more with a relieved sadness, let it go, and walked away.

Email: Claire Ryan Chilton

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