My Whole World; Familiar, Yet New
I'm starting to feel like my old self. I don't mean the "old self" of a few weeks ago. I don't even mean the "old self" of last year. I mean the "old self" as in the me I was before I turned into the me I am.
I'm starting to remember how I felt when I started college. When I left the safety of home and began my adult life.
Back when I was young and innocent, hopeful and optimistic. Back when I knew that it wasn't about how I looked, but rather how I lived. When I loved without hesitation and trusted without reservation. When I wasn't afraid to step out on blind faith and try whether I was right or wrong. When I asked questions because I had a desire to know more, not because I doubted.
Back before the disease of cynicism infected my spirit and corrupted my mind.
I'm not sure when or where it started to happen, but I've recently noticed that there seems to be some cracks in my hard shell of defenses. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of the hopeful, idealistic me that I thought had long been destroyed. Sometimes I'm flooded with strange feelings; memories, not of specific events or moments in my history, but of the understandings and emotions I lived in. The sweet innocence of my childish faith in God, the church, Christians, and mankind in general.
And even though I'm recalling these familiar feelings, reliving the simplicity of my old self, and drawing in as much of that hopeful nature that I can, it's not the same. Not the same at all. I've changed over the course of time. My views of the world around me, as well as of the church itself, has expanded. I've grown in understanding. I've made decisions based on what I see, what I know, and what I've discovered. I've tried, failed, tried again, and finally given up. I've stopped doing it someone else's way; stopped doing it just because I'm expected to. I've stopped accepting "because that's the way it's always been done" as a valid answer to my questions.
In other words, this time my faith is real.
This time the thoughts and feelings don't come from a simple, blind faith in what I don't understand, but instead from the simple understanding of what I am blindly faithful to.
I've spent a decade asking questions, trying to understand, wondering why and how and when, raising cries of outrage at my confusion. But did it really have to be that complicated? Maybe I was better off when I closed my eyes and bravely stepped off the curb instead of looking both ways before crossing. Either way, I still sometimes get run over by Life. Maybe it's better to not know what's coming and just believe that I will eventually make it to the other side, a little battered perhaps, but safe nonetheless.
I'm afraid there's really no going back for me. Just as a man can never return to the same childhood home he left behind, I can never unlearn my lessons of life and return to that totally innocent childhood faith. I can, however, recapture the hopeful optimism that comes from an honest trust in God.
And maybe that's enough.
Maybe it's not about unlearning. Maybe it's about learning, growing, changing, and yet still finding the hope and faith I knew before Life had it's turn with me. Maybe it's not about returning to the child I was, but instead finding the child-likeness in the grown-up I am.
I may be starting to feel like my old self, but I'll never completely BE my old self. But my guess is that's okay.
I returned to my childhood hometown as an adult and created a new and different life for myself. I think it's time for me to do the same spiritually; take my adult understanding back to my child-like faith. Then I can create a new and stronger relationship with my God.
It's time for me to stop critically questioning and start innocently believing.
It's time for me to embrace the familiar, yet new.
I'm starting to remember how I felt when I started college. When I left the safety of home and began my adult life.
Back when I was young and innocent, hopeful and optimistic. Back when I knew that it wasn't about how I looked, but rather how I lived. When I loved without hesitation and trusted without reservation. When I wasn't afraid to step out on blind faith and try whether I was right or wrong. When I asked questions because I had a desire to know more, not because I doubted.
Back before the disease of cynicism infected my spirit and corrupted my mind.
I'm not sure when or where it started to happen, but I've recently noticed that there seems to be some cracks in my hard shell of defenses. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of the hopeful, idealistic me that I thought had long been destroyed. Sometimes I'm flooded with strange feelings; memories, not of specific events or moments in my history, but of the understandings and emotions I lived in. The sweet innocence of my childish faith in God, the church, Christians, and mankind in general.
And even though I'm recalling these familiar feelings, reliving the simplicity of my old self, and drawing in as much of that hopeful nature that I can, it's not the same. Not the same at all. I've changed over the course of time. My views of the world around me, as well as of the church itself, has expanded. I've grown in understanding. I've made decisions based on what I see, what I know, and what I've discovered. I've tried, failed, tried again, and finally given up. I've stopped doing it someone else's way; stopped doing it just because I'm expected to. I've stopped accepting "because that's the way it's always been done" as a valid answer to my questions.
In other words, this time my faith is real.
This time the thoughts and feelings don't come from a simple, blind faith in what I don't understand, but instead from the simple understanding of what I am blindly faithful to.
I've spent a decade asking questions, trying to understand, wondering why and how and when, raising cries of outrage at my confusion. But did it really have to be that complicated? Maybe I was better off when I closed my eyes and bravely stepped off the curb instead of looking both ways before crossing. Either way, I still sometimes get run over by Life. Maybe it's better to not know what's coming and just believe that I will eventually make it to the other side, a little battered perhaps, but safe nonetheless.
I'm afraid there's really no going back for me. Just as a man can never return to the same childhood home he left behind, I can never unlearn my lessons of life and return to that totally innocent childhood faith. I can, however, recapture the hopeful optimism that comes from an honest trust in God.
And maybe that's enough.
Maybe it's not about unlearning. Maybe it's about learning, growing, changing, and yet still finding the hope and faith I knew before Life had it's turn with me. Maybe it's not about returning to the child I was, but instead finding the child-likeness in the grown-up I am.
I may be starting to feel like my old self, but I'll never completely BE my old self. But my guess is that's okay.
I returned to my childhood hometown as an adult and created a new and different life for myself. I think it's time for me to do the same spiritually; take my adult understanding back to my child-like faith. Then I can create a new and stronger relationship with my God.
It's time for me to stop critically questioning and start innocently believing.
It's time for me to embrace the familiar, yet new.