By A Comeaux
Many moons ago over a dark cloud I called my season, I ran across a story that left an indelible mark in my mind.
The little girl in this well-written prose resembled me in so many ways I was sure the author knew me personally, or someone had stolen one of my beloved journals detailing the very ills of my life, the joys hidden behind my tears and the dreams I dare not confess aloud.
I was pierced by her purity and her stubbornness alike. I wanted to meet her for she embodied the very notions that I, too, could relate. In short, she saw something that she HAD to have-- a pearl necklace—and weekly she’d begged for this item.
Once received, she marveled at its beauty and delicacy.
She handled with the utmost care, and wore the coveted pearls only for the most special of all tea parties for her imaginary friends to relish the beauty around her neck. Then trouble approached. Her father asked her to give up her prized possession. *gasp
In doing so she offered him anything else BUT her pearls. However, he only wanted what she wasn’t willing to give up. This went on night after night. Nights filled with tears and heads hanging low. Sorrow and rejection filled her father’s face nightly and she grew increasingly sad, running out of options to offer.
Finally, and much to her dismay, she bowed her head and raised her tightly clenched hand, filled with her prized fake pearls. A million questions swirled in her tiny mind as she wondered what he’d do with a string of little girl pearls.
Why would he ask her for what she valued over everything in her world? Why?!?!?!
When he walked out of the room, he felt a heaviness mixed with a silver lining of pride. He returned to her room the next night with a lavishly wrapped, plush velvet jewelry box. The ribbon was silk. It was literally so pretty she didn’t want to unwrap it but her anxiousness overwhelmed her. She tore into that box with the vigor of a starved hostage.
It was a string of cultured pearls. Real ones. Beautiful ones. Ones that looked like perfectly rounded balls of clouds with a luminance about them that her previous pearls simply lacked. It looked like they were glowing. Wow. Mesmerized so much so that she didn’t realize he’d place them around her neck, clamped them closed while her hands were still rubbing them. Like braille, the pearls spelled authenticity.
This story comes to heart each time I hold on too tightly to fake loves. Fake friends. Fake perceptions. Sometimes, oftentimes, these fake things look EXACTLY like what we really want.
They are the very mold of our dreams. Yet they are not and in order to have our REAL lives take off in the direction we want, we must relinquish every fake, false, impersonator in our lives taking the place of what life truly has to offer to us. See, she didn’t know real pearls were the reason for her giving up the fake ones. That’s called sacrifice. He could’ve easily showed her the real pearls and did an even exchange. But she earned that lesson. She gave up her treasure not knowing the reason behind it all.
I ask you, what are the pearls in your life? What are you holding on to that you know is fake?
We’re not children. We know what’s real versus what looks to be authentic. Do you have the courage to get your real pearls?
Tell me about it….