Burn the white flag...

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"Burn the white flag."

. . . .

I heard these lyrics in a song and I paused it,
     Hit rewind.
I let the words sink in again.
There was this chord struck in me that played a malicious melody,
     Attacking that selfish and frightened child in my heart,
The one that always needs a way out.

I have many white flags tied around my waist.
     They are waiting,
So close to my grasp, 
     Just in case.
So I can be ready.
Ready for when life gets too hard.
When the memories are too real.
And if the future seems to be a little too bleak.

There are days when I caress the white flags,
     In my shaking fingertips.
So close and so ready to be waved, 
     Or maybe even thrown.
These flags have always been nearby.
     A part of my normal outfit.

What would happen if I ripped them off?
If I took them and lit them on fire,
Watch them as they become ashes on the ground?
Would that make me stronger,
Or would that make me feel weak and fragile?

Because I wonder,
And I ponder,
If I felt I had no way of escape,
No trap door to fall to my ending fate,
What would I then choose?
Perhaps instead I would jump through a wall.
Maybe break out a window.

Maybe I would stop trusting myself and cease leaning on my own willpower.
And then learn and grasp hold of the truth that in those moments of debilitating despair and fear,
I can look up.
I can cry out.
And I can rest.
In the arms of someone who is never overwhelmed or surprised.
Who carries the weight of the vast universe on his shoulders and still can carry our sorrows.
. . . .

The flames of the burning white flags won't rid life of darkness.
But it will rid my soul of this shadow and stricken belief,
That I can rely on myself and my own strength.

I will choose to believe that holy strength is found when I admit I am weak.

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