Running down a secluded, darkened hallway. Familiar surroundings; déjà vu; lessons learned; truths remembered.
Closes my eyes in front of my second-grade classroom, remembering sitting in the second row, raising my hand so frantically trying desperately to get my teacher’s attention to ask if I can go to the bathroom because I feel like I have to . . .
Puke. All over my desk. A disgusted, horrified look on the faces of the two girls in front of me. Shock, pity, and humor on my teacher’s face. Pure terror on mine. Mortified. A day that will be long remembered, even by one of those girls over twelve years later.
Coming out of my reverie, I continue down the hallway. This teacher used to be in that classroom, That room was where Those kids went, the ones who had emotional problems, or couldn’t read as well as they should have been able to at their age. Everything so structured; so safe.
What happened? What the hell happened to me? To them? To all of us? Somewhere along the road, the safe, structured, knowing-if-I-ever-have-a-problem-or-get-scared-or-need-to-go-home-sick-or-just-plain-want-to-be-left-alone-and-read-for-a-while-ness turned into a massive mountain of self-responsibility that I never asked for. And don’t get me wrong, I love the freedom that my adult life brings with it, but I just get so sick of being scared of all the uncertainties of the future. Where will I live a year or two from now? What will my new job be in only months’ time, and how many “new job”s will I have before I die? When will I be ready to have kids? Will I ever, actually BE “ready”? What will my wife and I name our first goldfish? What will our first fight be about? How many anniversaries will we celebrate together before one of us returns to the dust? And will we EVER have enough money. . .
Money . . .
Money . . . . . . . . .?
God, please help me cling to You more strongly than I ever have before. Help me to know that it’s ok if I never know the answers to some of these questions. Help me to revel in the mystery, the uncertainty, the fact that nothing is set in stone and I shouldn’t ever take anything for granted. Help me to know that unless it’s in You, “security” is just a word, and “safe” is just a big, metal box you put your money in so it doesn’t get stolen, and even then . . .
There are no guarantees, except that You exist, and that You reward those who earnestly seek You. (Heb. 11:6)
So, when I get scared, help me to not wish I was seven again, but to boldly stand up and say to the dark, secluded hallway:
“Thank you, for all that you have given me: Familiar surroundings; déjà vu; lessons learned, and truths remembered. You helped me grow, and learn, and find out just enough about myself to build upon that information throughout the rest of my life. Yes, thank you. But know that I have moved on. I can never go back to the way things were, and if I do, I’m only ignoring my life now. No more running; no more wanting to go back; and no more denying my fear. I’m afraid, and that’s ok. That’s OK.
“So go. Help more kids. Create more whole, complete, passionate children; ready and willing to live their lives as strongly and as powerfully as they possibly can.
“Yes, go. Because I’ve moved on. I can only learn so much from puking on my desk. I can only have my horizons broadened so far by the field trips we took. And I can only be so nourished by the eight chicken nuggets in that little compartment on my lunch tray.”
My life is here and now, and it’s time I started living it. Fearlessly. Unashamedly. And dangerously. After all, “secure” is just a word . . .
- Fin
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