From the moment I first set eyes on you, you were Mine. You were Mine the very moment I thought of you. I conceived you. I had an idea of you, and then, My idea manifested. My idea was not quite good enough for you, however, and you foraged to make up your own idea. Now you are returning to the idea I had of you. Now you are beginning to draw on a vaster canvas.
You cannot put asunder what I have created. You cannot recreate what I have created. You can put a new spin on it, but that signifies nothing. When all is said and done, My image of you has substance, and your image of yourself has none. What I think I create.
And here’s the corker: What you think you also create. Even when it is a fake. You are good at creating sham. You fool yourself. You fool the world. But that does not change the fact that your deflated idea of yourself is a fake, a fraud that doesn’t hold up next to Mine. How could it? How could your paper-thin fiction hold up against Truth, My Truth no less.
You are a like a millionaire who pretends to be a pauper. He gets a kick out of pretending to be less wealthy than he really is. He feels the illusion he creates somehow elevates him. He knows something others don’t. He has fooled them, and so he clicks his heels in delight. Why would he live a lie unless he had some satisfaction from it?
Why would you go along convincing yourself that you are a lesser Being than what I say? You don’t believe you are holy, and you don’t believe anyone else you know is either. The thought is fearsome to you. And so you prefer to think the Truth is fraud, and the fraud is truth.
You have gone to great lengths to portray yourself as less than you are. You have portrayed unworthiness, and you have proven it over and over again. You have given the wrong change; you have pilfered something that wasn’t yours; you have told fib upon fib and believed them sincerely. You have become a master of deceit, and you have deceived yourself, your friends, your family. You have played along with the world, bowed down to it, assumed your role as court jester or fiend or thief, and played it to the hilt.
You have pretended I don’t exist. You have thought I was a fly in the ointment of your life, and that I was somehow alien to you. You hardly gave Me a passing nod. You danced away. You turned off the music of your soul and did a tap dance instead. You covered your ears and drowned out My hum.
You have not come to grips with Me – your concept of Me. You may have shaken Me off the way a dog shakes the rain off his fur. What if you stopped a moment and did not shake Me off? What if you stood a moment and allowed your mind to accept My presence? What if you stood firm? What if you waited half a moment to allow yourself to catch up to Me?
What if I sit on a porch swing, and all you have to do is to sit beside Me, and then We swing together. What if you do hand-springs to Me? What if you leap at the chance to get a glimpse of Me? What if you come forth to Me right now?