Living with a lie.
I lived in the same neighborhood as a thief. He robbed everyone. It was expected. Accepted. So, while I was still young, he began to rob me.
Since everyone was being robbed, being robbed felt like being accepted…at least at first. But that kind of acceptance quickly became painful.
For when everyone is being stolen from, they all live alone, even while they live together. I felt very alone.
The thief kept coming back. He demanded more. His demands hurt. I hoped that if I gave in, I wouldn’t get badly hurt. But instead, I was simply making it easier for him to keep stealing from me. To keep wounding me. To keep bruising me. To keep treating me just as badly as he did everyone else.
But other than that, I was OK! Because after all, this was just the way life was supposed to be.
A lie exposed.
Until I met a friend. (I didn’t know he was my friend. He didn’t look like anyone I knew, because he wasn’t beaten and bruised, or at least not that I could see.) “Why are you so bloody?” he asked. “Why are your clothes in rags?”
“Oh these little scratches?” I laughed. “They are really nothing. There’s this thief who steals from me sometimes. And, you know, he can get a bit rough if I don’t give him what he wants right away. It’s OK.”
“It‘s NEVER OK to be robbed”, his voice was firm. “Why do you keep letting him steal from you?”
“It’s not a big deal” I insisted. “You see, I don’t have anything that’s valuable, so I don’t actually lose anything when he robs me.” (I was proud to have such WISE insight.)
His voice was intent, “If what you have is not valuable, then why does he keep taking it from you?”
“Ummm… because I’m weak. Truth is, I’m pretty much worthless.”
“If you are so weak and so worthless, then why must he keep hurting you, in order to take what he wants?”
I had no answer.
I was ashamed to look up. But when I did, the compassion I saw in my friend’s eyes gave me a startling glimpse of the value that he saw in me. Value I had never allowed myself to see. I felt exposed.
Truth Revealed.
“You are not worthless. You are not weak. You have great value.”
“Who are you?” I snapped, my fear sounding like anger.
“I’m someone who used to be just like you”, he whispered. “I used to live near the thief.”
“Oh, you mean he left your neighborhood and moved to mine?”
“No” he answered. “No, I lived right where you live. But I got tired of being robbed and beaten, and I left.” Then he uttered words I had never before dared to hear, “You can leave too. It won’t be easy, but I will help you. And so will others. You will not be alone.”
Now I’m on a journey discovering what I thought was lost forever. At times the thief tries to entice me back. But since I do not travel alone, it’s much harder for the thief to win. In fact, he can’t.
My wounds are healing. My scars are fading.
I’ve left the old neighborhood.
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