Letting Go

She starts off the morning choosing a lie.

It is apparent as soon as I send Sarah in to tell her it is time to get up.

“Mama said you can get up,” I hear Sarah tell her. I know she wants to get up because we’ve been talking about breakfast and no doubt she’s heard us and breakfast is one of her favorite times of day.

But she doesn’t come.

She chooses to victimize herself and believe a lie. She refuses to come to warmth, light, and food.

Minutes go by and we talk more of breakfast: oatmeal or cereal? Fruit? What will we eat this morning?

I hear her sniffling. “Mama, I want to get up.” She is pouting, acting like someone is holding her to the bed against her will. I repeat the message Sarah sent.

That is not what she wants. She wants someone to validate her self-imposed victim status. She is upset with me for saying the truth so simply: she is free to get up.

She begins to cry, binding herself in chains of her own making. Refusing to accept the freedom and life offered her. Refusing to believe she is welcomed, wanted, invited, that she belongs.

I go to her and get her out of bed. “What did Sarah tell you?” I ask her.

I want her to realize she has done this to herself and that it is only hurting her.

“Don’t get out of bed.” she says.

A lie. A self-concocted lie because she prefers rejection to acceptance. She prefers the familiar feelings of victimization to the frightening risk of being loved and loving back.

I tell her no, that is not what Sarah said and ask her again, “What did Sarah tell you?”

“Don’t get out of bed.” This time she shakes her head as she says it, convincing herself further that is what she heard Sarah say, and trying to convince me too.

But I heard the joyful pattering feet, the hands gripping the door, excited to see sister, the greeting that was offered and the words as instructed, “Mama said you can get up.” I know this is a bald-faced lie and I grieve that she would invent it of her own accord simply to play the victim.

I tell her no, that is a lie and lies are dangerous. They hurt us. They are from Satan, who wants to kill us, steal from us, and destroy good things God has for us.

“We don’t listen to lies,” I tell her. “And we don’t speak them.”

I tell her what I heard Sarah say and ask if that isn’t the truth. She starts to cry. She knows she has to let go of the lie and it is a painful letting go.”Yes,” she tells me through tears.

Strange, how we grieve letting go of the things that kill us.

I see her little heart breaking at having to face the truth and let go of the lie. She begins to sob like her life is going to fall apart and I know the feeling. I cry with her. The tears slip out before I can stop them and I know what it is like to be so terribly afraid of letting go, even when you know it is not helpful to hold on. When lies have been your companion, your friend, your soother in the dark, it is hard to let them go.

It is hard to embrace something you’ve wanted so badly but have believed is beyond your reach.

I hold her and stroke her hair and tell her that I am going to help her. “Let’s pray to Jesus,” I tell her and we go to the One who is Truth and who sets free with Truth and who guides us into all Truth.

We call on Truth to release the lies embedded in our hearts and set us free.

I breathe deep and long. And we turn together to embrace the love, light, and laughter awaiting us.

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3 Comments on “Letting Go”

  1. This caught hold of my breath and whisked it away. How often do I play the victim… because it is familiar?

    “She prefers the familiar feelings of victimization to the frightening risk of being loved and loving back.”

    Yes, that.

    Must take the risk and let the hurt heal instead of wound.

  2. Lisa says:

    Oh how true this is! Why is it so difficult to let go of our chains?? Thanks for the reminder to let go of them and cling to the Truth instead.

  3. Lindsey says:

    Oh my, how you have touched my heart, Sister. One of my little ones is held by the same chains. You will be in my prayers often.


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