On Letting Go

A couple of months ago I got my feelings hurt. Actually, now that I look back on it with a little bit of perspective, I think it was more that my pride was hurt. The hard thing is, it happened at church. And it rattled me.

I was rattled on a couple of levels. First, I was hurt, embarrassed, wounded, whatever you want to call it. That was tough. On another level, I was frustrated that I was hurt--know what I mean? I thought I'd just get over it. I was surprised because, I didn't. On a deeper level even still, I was surprised and disappointed in my inability to get over it (see how I'm creating a cycle of madness here?). Last of all, deep down darkest of all, I still felt like I was right.

It has festered. I actually started acting differently, differently in certain situations and definitely differently when I'm in circumstances that created the problem in the first place. All of this, to me, is proof that I'm still holding on.

And yet. I keep saying to myself, "I don't want to be right. I want to be good." In other words, I want my heart to change. I want to get over this thing. I want to move on. What's holding me back?

Hmm.

This morning I was watching Lillian play. She's in a bit of a tight spot, lately, my little one is. She has been on the verge of crawling for almost 6 weeks now. She gets up on all fours, she wiggles back and forth, she even pushes herself up straight legged, bum high in the air. And all she does is move backward. Then the recognition of her backward momentum makes her frustrated. So she tries again. Then she ends up twisting around and usually somehow bangs her head on a latent toy. This makes her even madder. She tries again and gets herself caught in between the couches. Sometimes she just lays her head on the carpet in exhaustion and frustration.

This morning I thought I saw a bit of progress. I was showing her the little slinky toy that she just loves. I was far enough away from her that she'd need to crawl to get it, but close enough to keep her attention on the toy. She kept focus and moved carefully two steps forward toward her prize and my waiting arms. Then she realized what she was doing. It sort of freaked her out. And down she crashed, frustrated and angry.

"Just come," I heard myself saying, "You can do it. Move forward. Come on, honey, come."

If only, I thought, she could just let go of her fear. If only she could let go she'd move ahead.

I thought of my own issue then. If only I could just let it go, then I could move forward, too.


It's like that scene in "Finding Nemo" when Marlin realizes that he's got to let go of the whale's tongue in order to be free. But he's terrified: what happens if it doesn't work? And what about how important it is to be right? On the other hand: how awesome is it, really, to be hanging on by your bare knuckles (um, er, fins, that is) to the tongue of a whale? You know the rest of the story. He lets go, and he's saved.

What if it's just that simple?

Think on this:

"Increasing our faith, therefore, requires decreasing, one by one, whatever our personal equivocations, reservations, and hesitations are in each of the specific dimensions of faith--those spirutal weaknesses that impede our finally surrendering to the Lord in full faith."

--Neal A. Maxwell, Lord Increase Our Faith.