The Still, Small Voice spoke with authority. “Are you ready? It is time!”
“Garumph…go away…get outa here,” Worn and Weary replied. “Leave me alone. Too many times I have been ‘ready.’ Countless times. There is no such thing as ‘a time’ for me…a time to ditch this...this blasted disappointment. I’m tired of fighting; tired of trying; tired of failing.”
Small continued to listen patiently, but a deep silence stretched between them. The sun dropped in the sky, accentuating the cavernous valley with its high sides.
Then the voice spoke again. “Hello (hello hello).” Small now called down from a high mountain top into the darkening valley where Worn sat, dejected and alone, on a cold stone. The words echoed in Worn’s ears.
“Whadda ya want?” Worn yelled back defiantly.
“I want to tell you it’s time…you are finally ready (ready ready ready ready).”
Worn glared across the barren valley with disdain, but then turned to gaze up, up, up toward the source of the familiar voice. The mountainous skyscape above seemed breathtaking in its glory. That one high mountain, covered with snow…ah what a delight it would be to go THERE. Surely life would be different THERE. Sigh. It was not meant to be.
Worn turned from the snow-covered peak to stare at barrenness. Addictions, compulsions, and obsessions were the ruling force. The overwhelming reality? FEAR. Every possible tactic had already failed. There could be no overcoming. There could be no more battle.
Small spoke again. “Do you believe me? The end of your trial has come (come come come come).”
The words rang through Worn’s mind. Come. Come. Come. Come. Come.
“Why should I believe you? WHY?”
The wind stirred the dry leaves on the tree next to Worn, rustling them musically. Small’s melodious voice blended with their song:
“The old has gone (gone gone gone); the new has come (come come come).”
Worn spit words into the sand angrily: “How can this be? What do you know that I don’t know?”
The wind suddenly quieted. Nothing but stillness. Dread evaporated. Worn’s heart skipped a beat. Time stopped.
From the top of the mountain, Small’s gentle voice boomed through a megaphone, slicing the air with precision. “You shall be called Worn and Weary no longer, for YOU HAVE FINALLY COME TO THE END OF YOURSELF. Admit it - you are - finished.”
After a pause, the Still Small Voice continued. “Your Master stands ready to take command. You already know your destination – the mountain has called to you for years. Now come. Leave the valley, and come. From this moment on, you shall be called…Victor.”
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