Losing Truth

I wish I could draw the picture I can see so clearly in my head. Alas, my best attempt at creating visual art would look like awkward stick figures.

But the image is clear to me, and this is what I see as I look at the world around me.

I see a young man or woman walking along a dirt path, back to the camera, a number of heavy cords wrapped around her waist, and holding an object in one hand. We recognize the cords, for they are similar to the ones that we once carried. We are reminded again of what our life used to be, and pick up our pace, longing to reach her. To help her.

But she seems to sense our pursuit and walks faster. She lets the hand holding the object hang at her side, and as the path rises up and to the left, then twists and turns right, we notice that she has let the object go. It tumbles in the dirt and rolls to the side of the road.

One look at her, and at first she lifts her head and her step seems lighter, though the cords that cling to her body still weigh her down. We keep following, and when we reach the place where she dropped the object, we pick it up and look it over. At first, it doesn’t seem like anything important, just a lumpy cloth bag.

The young woman is attempting to skip ahead now, so we grab the bag and hurry after her, wondering where she is headed. The lights of a city rise in the distance, and she is awkwardly running straight for it.

Dusk deepens as she disappears into the depths of the city’s heart. We’ve lost sight of her, so we click off the camera. There is no point in continuing our pursuit. She has gone off in a direction we can’t follow, though we aren’t sure why.

We make our way to a coffee shop, still carrying the bag she dropped. You order coffee while I find a seat for us in a corner of the room. Once seated, we set the bag between us and open its drawstring cords. Inside we find a small leather book. It doesn’t look very worn, and it strikes us as strange that she would drop something of such quality, for as we turn it over, we see gilded edged pages and intricate carvings on the cover. It even has her name etched on the bottom.

Across the front, we read the title of the book. Truth. We recognize this book as it has been the world’s bestselling book for generations. It is the very book that holds the words that removed the cords that once bound us. It is a book we treasure.

We look at each other, reading in the other’s eyes the sorrow we both feel. Why did she drop Truth?

“We should try to find her and give this back to her,” you say to me, and I nod in agreement. But then I shake my head, changing my mind.

“She won’t want it back,” I say, sadly. “Not yet.”

“Keep it for her?” you ask.

I nod again. Yes. We will keep it for her. Perhaps one day, when she searches for truth again, we can return it to her. Or she can pick up another copy, though it might be less expensive and less intricate. The words will be just as valuable. And once she truly understands what it says, those cords that bind her will fall off. She will be set free.

We long for that day.

~Selah

_{Full Disclosure: Pictures were AI generated. Words are mine.}