Open yourself to the possibility
That there is much more
beyond what your senses show

 

At the age of 18, I decided to offer my spirit to God, much like how some choose to give their souls to the devil.

Back then I was clumsy, ugly, puny, inept, like the “ugly duckling,” but I had a lot of spirit–a clear, living, sharp, biting spirit that bit mercilessly.

As soon as a person who was a tad ridiculous ventured to show himself to me, I would catch him on the fly and fix him with a stinging word, as one fixes an insect on a cork, with a pin. This amused me greatly and made the company laugh. But my cousins judged me “bad,” and my brother called me “viper.” He would have been better off saying mosquito or wasp.

Upon reflection, I saw myself with my cruel sting and wondered if a Christian could accept such behaviour. I was seized with remorse.

One morning, after Communion, I spoke to Our Lord about giving up my spirit. I wondered what I would have left without it. I was convinced that I had no beauty or charm, nothing to offer to please anyone. The idea of sacrificing my spirit was hard to accept. I was struggling to decide it. The cost of giving up my spirit seemed too high, it was like giving up everything.

God was waiting inside with an air of reproach. It occurred to me to barter my spirit for a reward.

It was a real barter.

I sold something to Him but didn’t put a price on it, assuming that God is wealthy, fair, and generous. I trusted that He would pay me well for it. However, after the sale was over, I felt guilty about using the object I had sold. I strive to conduct my business with honesty and integrity.

At first, I felt constrained and awkward, as if words were flying to my lips, only to be swallowed half-said, which wasn’t always comfortable.

But then habit came to my aid. And I gradually became the little, meek spinster to whom no one pays attention, either in the family or outside — to whom no one pays more attention than to an extinguished match.

Twenty years have passed… What will the Good Lord have given me,

in return for my mischief?

Not beauty. Not charm. Not love. Not happiness, Perhaps the gift of poetry? But I already had that, from early childhood.

Here. It gave me the gift of new sight, to immediately grasp, instead of the ridiculous side, the beauty and qualities of people, even those with none.

To the point that today I love them so much, even when they are ridiculous, silly, and mediocre, that I can play with my mischief again just for fun without hurting anyone.

Marie Noel, Secret Diary
Excerpted from the book The Moral of the Fable
edited by Laura Vagliasindi