My Beaded Necklace

I heard a story once about a little girl who had a strand of cheap, plastic beads.  She loved those beads and wore them every day.  

One night, as her father was tucking her in bed, he said to her, “Sweetie, give me your beaded necklace.”  

Her lower lip quivered, and she shook her head.  “But, Daddy, why?”

“Trust me,” he whispered.  But she held tightly to her beads.

The next night, he tucked her in, pulling the blankets up around her.  Then he said gently, “Sweetie, give me your beaded necklace.”  

Again, her eyes filled with tears.  “But, Daddy, why?”

Again, the father whispered, “Trust me.”  Still she held tightly to her beads.

The next night he sat on his daughter’s bedside.  She clutched her beads under the blankets.  

Once more, the father asked, “Sweetie, give me your beaded necklace.  Trust me.”  

Silently tears trickled down the little girl’s cheeks.  She closed her eyes and thought.  Her father loved her, and she had always been able to trust him.  She scrunched up her eyes and took a deep breath.  Slowly, she pulled her fist out from under the covers and opened her hand, offering her most prized possession, her beaded necklace, to her daddy.  

The daddy smiled and took the necklace from his daughter.  Then he reached into his pocket and took out a small velvet box.  Wiping the tears from his daughter’s cheeks, he gave her the box and beamed, “Open it, sweetheart.”

The little girl gasped, for inside the box was a strand of real pearls.  Her father had given her a gift far more valuable than the cheap, plastic beads she had clung to so tightly.

*******************************************************************************************************

Once again, I find myself clinging to my plastic beads, my plans and expectations.  I had some notions about how my life would turn out, you see.  And things haven’t gone accordingly.  Again.  

So I’ve got to decide whether to clutch stubbornly to my cheap imitation.  Or open my hand, offering up everything so that I can accept my Father’s gift.  

Here I am again trading in my plans and dreams for the far more valuable plans and dreams my Daddy has for me.  Here I am again learning to trust Him.  

Honestly, some moments I prefer the known and familiar cheap, plastic imitation.

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3 Comments

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3 responses to “My Beaded Necklace

  1. Gmama

    Jenn,
    Thank you for this entry. I, too, clutch at those cheap beads because I already have them in my hand and I want to hold on to what is mine without realizing that it isn’t mine at all. There are riches our Father has for us if we will only open our hands and our hearts.

  2. may you discover his invaluable and exquisite pearls…

  3. I’ll be praying for your husband and family. I don’t know if that is what prompted this post, but I needed to read this for myself.

    Thank you.

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