Second Star To The Right & Straight On To Maturity

“All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this: One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, ‘Oh, why can't you remain like this for ever!’” Peter Pan.

Never have I felt so ill-equipped in my life. The first month in Redding was probably one of the hardest times in my life, but every day still felt like an adventure. Now that I am settled in for the long-haul, the shiny-new sparkle of it all is fading. You know that favorite pair of sneakers you have? (Okay, you might not have them, but I do). They were really cool when they were brand new and then there's a stage where they are just shoes, nothing fancy and mostly functional. Yet even further than that, there is a point where the sneakers are worn, comfortable, and have such an air of familiarity that throwing them out is not an option. Okay, life is in the in-between stage for me. California is still beautiful, but the adventure is fading. The initial infatuation, lovey-dovey feeling is now mostly functional: a stepping stone to get to the greener grass.

"Where am I going?" I find myself asking far too often. Others here wonder, "What are you doing when you finish first year?" Right. Like I know. Ask God; maybe He'll tell you (and feel free to pass it on). My brain races with thousands of ideas, from working, college, moving to a random city, a mission trip, although I find myself shaking my head at the idea of moving back home for good, which is odd, considering the level of homesickness is off the charts some days.

"What am I doing?" is a follow-up question. I had a conversation last night about growing up and how it's basically the hardest thing next to diamonds and I was given the most hopeful observance ever: "Feeling like things are above your maturity level never ends." A deep pause took place in me when I heard that. It makes sense, after all. We can never be fully prepared for everything and feel capable to handle all that life tosses our way. Like Benjamin Franklin said, “Our whole life is but a greater and longer childhood.”

A little update on life since August: I've had two people in my life pass away, a couple issues with people dear to me, a lot of open heart surgery between me and Holy Spirit, adjusting to a new location, I moved out, had my job plan fall through, found a new job, lost the new job and found another (teacher's aide), still figuring out a new situation for an evening job, nearly got fired from Starbucks, I'm learning to deal with my own finances, and on top of all that, I just plain miss my family. Oh right: and then there's daily living with people and the fun that comes with it: new friends, Cowboys games, movie marathons, plays, Monday night potluck, parties, and countless other things.

Recently I have especially found myself feeling less and less worthy to deal with different situations in life, especially when I cannot make the answers equal out. Today I had to rearrange my own schedule (oh so dreadful, I know), talk to my manager about changing jobs and possibly quitting, and get a shot for a TB test for the school district. If you know me at all, you know I hate needles. Hate, as in dreadful fear. I went alone and felt like I was being sentenced to death and taxes. I had a pretty decent outward calm but I was screaming with every moment in the waiting room and I nearly cried when the doctor asked, "How are you?" My eyes swam when he grabbed my arm to poke it and then it was over. All the melodrama and terrified anticipation left me tense and I felt silly. There. I'd faced it. So why did I still want to come home and sob when Rachel asked how it went?

I'm learning so much: The next time I have to be sick without my mom, I know that I need people. When someone passes away and the world overwhelms me, I still need people. When I'm just tired and feeling overwhelmed and way too young, I still need people. I guess I just figured that one day I'll "grow up" and not need anyone anymore, but I get it now. The more independent and needless I feel, the more I have that seven year-old complex of knowing it all. Somehow, though, I am also to balance my imagination, dreams, adventure, and idealism with the "weightier" issues of responsibility and reality. It really is the childish versus the childlike; they are not one and the same. After all... '[Jesus] said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.' (Matthew 18:3-4)

Hm, "like little children." But then: "When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me." (1 Corinthians 13:11). So sometimes being childlike is okay, but then childish actions and thoughts are to be put away. It goes on to explain in the next chapter pretty well, I think. "Stop thinking like children. In regard to evil be infants, but in your thinking be adults. (1 Corinthians 14:20). There is an innocence credited to childhood that is good and healthy, a purity of heart, a faith in the impossible, the humility of having to trust. "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God." (Matthew 5:8) It's a purity that I'm after, not an abstinence. I am not into restraint, but freedom. Who needs more rules? That, my friends, is the beauty of living from love, not for it. I am made in the image of God; I am learning to live like it:

"Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, we shall be like Him, for we shall see him as he is." (1 John 3:2)