I sit on my parent’s front porch, sticking out my toes to try to catch warmth from the early morning sun. It’s my second last day before moving to a new province.
I finally went through all my childhood belongings in the attic. Now, they sit in boxes to be donated. I threw away my craft glitter and that rock my best friend and I rubbed our blood on when we were in a Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn phase. We swore we’d be friends forever.
It’s my second last day and I can’t help but wonder whether I will ever really belong anywhere again.
I’ve memorized the skyline from the front porch.
I sit with my Grandma the week before. All she talks about is her childhood now. She’s lived with those memories the longest.
Like her, I want to live in the innocent days of summer, catching minnows in the creek.
But I choose to move to a new city, where the skyline is blocked by high rises.
I consider buying my first real plant.
It’s when I talk to her on the phone that I realize what I really want. “This season is for learning to live my faith in the way God is asking me to, not the way anyone else expects me to.”
It’s about becoming a child again.
A child who accepts truth with wide-eyed awe.
A child who rests easy in the room beside her parents who pray.
A child who comforts the outcast because all people are just that–people.
It’s about believing with a whole heart.
Not because I don’t know any better.
But because I actually do.
But I’m afraid to live like it.
To love the Ancient Words because I know they’re true.
To rest in the Everlasting Arms because I know they’re safe.
And to comfort the people on the fringe because I know they’re loved, made–just like me.
Isn’t that the best way to grow up?
“Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 18:4