There once was a girl who had lost her Mother through no fault of her own. The fates decreed it would happen. Like a brave little girl, she threw the loss so deep inside her heart that she was unable to find it. No matter how hard she searched for it, she could not find it.
She left it behind her and went on with the business of living. She couldn’t complain. She was alive and breathing. She was able to smile and she was able to play, but she found she could not cry. But that was ok. The people she saw on a regular basis didn’t want a sad little girl putting her burden out on the ground for the world to see. They wanted her to dance and sing for them. They wanted her to laugh and play with exuberance. She was happy to accommodate them. She wanted to please and she wanted to be liked by people. She knew it was the very thing that made her human.
She got on with the business of pleasing. She laughed and she giggled, she danced and she sang, and she prayed to their all-knowing God. They repeated over and over to her, that God was all she needed. He would talk with her and walk with her, hug her, and read her stories. He would rock her at night, sing her to sleep, and make every thing right. She waited and waited with her heart in her hands, eager to give it away, to the God in heaven, the all-loving God. They said He was coming for her. She waited and waited . Day after day, she looked everywhere for Him. She finally came to realize, He wasn’t coming for her.
She threw the loss inside her heart, so deep, it was hidden from all. She laughed and she played. She danced and she sang, and nobody noticed but her, that her heart had shriveled up inside and became the size of a pea. Her sense of hope had died in the night. She couldn’t find a part of herself, the part, she called, “Me.”