Inside or Out?

My room was fully furnished and stocked with many good things. but among my favourite were a dress that made me look a cut above the rest, the loveliest white daisy you could find, and a chocolate cake. I smiled at my father and thanked him, holding the cake and the flower in my hand, and dressed in my dress.

“Here, let me have some of that,” my father held out his hand.

But they were mine! I shook my head. My father persisted, his hands outstretched. Fearing for my belongings, I held on to my things, gathered my favourite toys, and ran out of the house, away to a place where he wouldn’t be around to ask me for my things.

Clutching tightly to my things, I ran away from my father, stumbling and climbing up again, looking for the most obscure path, then falling again and getting up again. I ran at times and walked at times, but I didn’t want to get lost, so I made a note where home was and how to get back….. until one day, I realized I was confused with my bearings.

Hungry, I took up my chocolate cake to eat, only to that there were only crumbs left in my hand. To my horror, my hands were all dirty from the grime and mud of the journey. I’d lost some of my toys, and my white daisy – I’d clutched it so tightly that it was wilted, brown and mushed up. And my dress – all I could see was the grime from my journey, and the mess of my sweat, chocolate cake crumbs and mushed-up flower.

I dropped those things in my hand – they were unrecognizable. But the grime stayed on my empty hands. It just wouldn’t go away. Nothing in my empty hands but dirt. Filth.

Nothing! Except for a hand. A big hand. A big, strong, hand holding on to my filthy ones. I looked up to the one whose hand held mine, and looked into the face of my father.

“Come,” he said. He led me to a stream and washed my hands. He gave me a clean new dress to wear and led me back home to my room. And there I saw better toys than what I’d been clutching, a room full of riches.

How good it is to be my father’s daughter! “Was that why you asked me for my things then, father?” I asked. “So that I could have all these better things?”

“No, my child. It was to free your hands.”

“But why, father? There are so many good things here! I can stay in my room forever and enjoy all these things! I don’t have to wander out there in the grime again!”

“No. I freed your hands so that you can work. You can have these things anytime you want. But your job is to go out there to work.”
“Work?”

“Go out there and show everyone your new dress. Tell them about this house, tell them about me, so that they can come home too...”

“…just like I did!” I interrupted.

“…just like you did,” my father finished.

“That’s what it means to be your child?”

“That’s what it means to be my child.”

“That’s what it means to follow you?”

“Yes. I went out there to find you, remember?”