by Carol Hoenig

Created on: February 09, 2007   Last Updated: May 11, 2007

Hesitant To Let Go Again

Like a past lover who had his hold on me, on my mind, my free thinking, the part that made me, me, I avoid any possible reacquaintance after the long stretch of uncommunicative time. The fear is of losing myself again to the dictates and demands, of immersing myself again in passionate servitude. Therefore, I keep myself at a safe distance while the tilt-a-whirl of life veers me in His direction then pulls me away almost as quickly.

I am afraid to discover once again that there is no balance to this relationship. No happy medium. There was a time that my nature had been one of all or nothing. I didn't know how to keep the unique part of me from being sublimated while wanting the faith to guide me. If I welcome Him once again, will I be able to reason clearly? Will I be able to love those who walk a different path or choose no walk at all? Will I be able to do so without condescension?
Like a lover, one who is able to trust me and knows part of me belongs to him while I keep something for myself, would it be different this time? If there is to be such a time? Would I be able to honor Him in both the cathedral and outdoors, both the temple and pool halls?
Or, maybe it was me doing the demanding, me imposing the rules. In my desire to obey how I thought He wanted me to obey, was I perhaps the one yearning His attention, His approval?
Look at me! Look how dutiful I am. For you. Love me! Love me! Love me!
I dash by the houses of worship. I scowl at the mention of His name, as if He'd harmed me in some way; a lover who repressed me. Yet, I yearn to believe, to pray freely, but not be mired in the legalistic boundaries. He tells me to "be still," but I worry that if I stop darting and dodging, He will overtake me once again, overwhelm me, make me in His image.
What is it about that that causes me to fear? Is it that I am not worthy to be in His image or is it the apprehension that it's the gender of "His" image? Father figure. The male role who'd let me down time and time again. Look at me! Love me! Love me!
Please.
All my life, I've been told, shown and forced to play second fiddle, told I'm lesser than the sum of a whole. Why would He want something not worthy of being complete? So, I'm left in a tug-of-war with one who perhaps has no interest in playing this game. Do I curl up in the fetal position and wait to desiccate and become ash, as He promised. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. More promises to be broken?
Is it the breath of life that is keeping me from Him? Is it only then that I can let go?

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