A wise woman tells me she gets this strong sense that I am unable to really let go; like I’m afraid of letting my hair down.
I hear her words, feel the lump in my throat (a marker that truth has been spoken), and in my mind’s eye can already see the story, her story, the one I need to hear.
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The town harlot. Marginalized, unseen, shamed, and scorned. And not one bit of that matters. Not to her. She leaves the margins and enters the fray – walking into a room full of men – the insiders, the censors, the judges, the jury. They look up from their feast, reclining, interrupted by the shock of her presence. Head held high, she ignores every incredulous face, sidelong glance, and whisper of contempt. There’s only one goal, one guest, one man that matters. No amount of shame or scorn will stop her. She will be seen.
And she will not bow or scrape. Not today. She will stand. Eye-to-eye, face-to-face, toe-to-toe with this God-man, this healer, this miracle worker, this Love enfleshed. Jesus.
So she did. Time slowed. Din silenced. Shame dissipated. Scorn dissolved. Only the two of them existed.
And maybe this is what enabled her next move: the visceral and complete awareness that this moment and this man were all that mattered, that she mattered.
She let go.
She wept. So much that she rained down tears on his feet. Then, in front of all her accusers – those leaders, law enforcers, and rule-followers – she let down her hair. Literally.… [Read more…] about Why Letting Go Is Not Falling Apart
