Sometimes I wonder if I’m not eight, rather than thirty-eight.
The way I forget things, the way I learn so slowly and stubbornly.
See, at heart, I’m generally a selfish girl.
I confess, my first instinct is to do what I want, right now, all the time.
It seems as if I have this urge, every second, to seek my own comfort and contentment.
It’s in my bones maybe. Possibly dregs of that ancient desire for self-preservation.
I don’t know. Maybe not – I don’t think everyone is like this.
But as moments and opportunities pass through my day, I struggle with each.
I, I, I.
Them, them, them.
And I have to choose.
I guess maybe I thought that, as I got older, married, birthed children, had more friends, became ‘respectable’ in my thirties, that this would pass away.
But no. I still struggle with the thought that I am very important. That I am first.
And that everyone else should understand.
And you’d think that doing this – the taking care of me – would make me happier.
That would be the base logic of it: “I need something. I make it happen. Immediately. I am happier.”
But, seems as if that is not so. Strangely enough.
On those days, hours, moments, where I am first – where I let duties slide, where I don’t answer, where I coddle myself to the fault of others –
I feel as if my chest is full of wet clay. Heavy and cold and hard to hold.
But those mornings when I wake early to fold or scrub or make apple muffins…
When I read the book about the white dog three more times after a blonde girl smiles with those crinkled blue eyes…
When I give to someone without them even asking…
When I convince myself to forget my self, even just for a little while…
I am weightless.
And it blows my mind.
So, I find again, that God teaches me through these smallest of things.
Maybe because that’s the only way I can learn. With tiny bites, like on a baby spoon.
But I am grateful. For this weakness of mine.
Because I see it as proof of God (and yes, part of my soul still seeks proof)
– if self-preservation and self-satisfaction SEEM to be what every person would WANT.
But then NOT what we want, NOT what makes us happy in the end.
Then there must be something (SOMEONE) else we seek –
So, then, I’m thankful for this eight year old heart in my thirty-eight year old body. For the part of me that has to learn repeatedly.
Because then He has to teach me repeatedly.
And there is some sort of grace in that –
Because, over and over again, I can wonder at these fathomless depths of the soul.
At the unending patience of a God who waits for me and pulls me along.
Over and over again.