Forced Devotion

A Dignity That Cannot Be Damaged

Forced Devotion
[Series 6]

We carry a presence that cannot truly be destroyed.
At times, our loyalty may seem hurt or shaken. It may look damaged. But in truth, it grows stronger.
Think of a lion. Even if its flesh is torn, new skin forms. It heals. It becomes strong again.
Like DNA that never disappears, our uniqueness remains.
We may feel small for a while. Confused for a while. Wounded for a while.
But what makes us who we are does not vanish.
We may wander off course, yet somehow we return.
There is something within us that cannot be denied. Something steady and absolute.
The wisdom we speak of does not appear overnight. It grows slowly, deep in the centre of our hearts. On the way, we pass through many things. Pressure is one of them. Force is one of them. Escape and avoidance are part of the journey too. Even rebellion and wandering are simply things we go through.

There was a girl I once knew.
She was in Year 5 at primary school. She lived in a remarried family and faced unfair treatment almost every day. She was often called by a swear word instead of her real name. Her step-sister, the same age as her, used the same insult.
At first, the girl fought back. She argued. She shouted. She lost her temper. And because of that, she was shouted at more and beaten more.
One day, she chose a different way.
She became calm in an almost playful way. That was her wisdom.
When they called her that ugly name, she would answer politely, “Yes?”
But inside, she would say to herself, That is not my name.
She stopped trying to win by shouting. Instead, she showed who she truly was through her behaviour. Her calm answers showed her character. Their cruel words showed theirs.
She realised something important.
Fighting in anger was harming her more than it was protecting her. Yet she did not accept their wrong behaviour either. She simply chose to act according to her own dignity.

After a while, the stepmother and step-sister grew tired of their cruelty. Perhaps they were bored. Perhaps they felt ashamed. Perhaps they were confused. Whatever the reason, they insulted her less.
She had not changed to please them. And in time, their reactions no longer mattered to her.
I still think of that girl sometimes.
At such a young age, she learned what love truly means. She learned why we must love ourselves. Why we must forgive ourselves. She understood the difference between silently suffering injustice and quietly pushing it away in our hearts.
She believed that outside voices could not destroy her.
She refused them.
She rejected them.
Shouting back did not feel powerful to her. It felt small. It felt as if she was damaging herself.
She did not break.
Answering calmly was not surrender. It was not obedience.
It was her choice.

She would whisper to herself again and again:
I am precious.
I am valuable.
I know what love is.
I will not become a bad person.
At that time, some children in her area lived in plastic greenhouse shelters. Few families were stable. Across the road stood newly built flats from a redevelopment project, filled with wealthier families. It was a place of sharp contrasts.
The girl came to Sunday school at church with one question in her heart:
How can I protect myself in such harsh conditions?
How can I live by my own choice, not by forced devotion under pressure?
How can I guard my dignity when I cannot simply love or forgive those who hurt me?
She did not pretend.
She did not lie to herself.
She did not act kind on the outside while hiding bitterness within.
She truly believed in her own dignity.

I sometimes wonder what kind of adult she has become.
Looking back, I think she understood her own heart very well. She protected herself. She spoke for herself.
She knew that forced devotion does not only come from outside pressure. It can begin inside us — when we give up our truth to survive.
She did not become bitter.
She did not excuse cruelty.
She did not justify wrongdoing.
Justification often creates another lie. It does not last long. It only brings quiet pain. It grows when we try to run from guilt or blame. In the end, it becomes self-deception.
But true dignity — the kind that cannot be damaged — rises above all of that. It is quiet and strong. Like silence filled with confidence.

Whatever we choose will bring clear results into our lives.
Choose the dignity that cannot be damaged.

*these are my own paintings *