The Reality of My World

It's true, when we are young, the world can't hurt us. Because the world consists of red wagons, slides, kittens, toy trucks and our parents loving arms. But then we grow up. I hate it really. I hate the fact that growing up had to happen. The sad part isn't that the world can now hurt us, but that often our world doesn't grow.

Instead of red wagons there are fast cars, instead of slides there is fast paced job. Instead of loving and protecting arms, there is a void to be filled by whatever satisfies the moment. Each world usually doesn't grow up with the body, it just becomes square instead of rectangle.

The saddest thing I've heard all week is this: Nothing happens, life just goes on. I cried when I heard it. How could someone I love actually have this perspective their story, their life? How could life be reduced to "just going on?" I simply couldn't understand a world so small.

But it made me stop; it made me think about my world. To me, my world is bigger than most. It is very safe to say that is pride talking. I love everything about cross culture, I love defying differences, I love tearing down walls with the Kingdom of Heaven as my alliance. Yet, compared to my God's world, I know nothing, my world is tiny.

Sometimes it requires me crying for someone else to see how much I need to cry for myself. Sometimes it takes a close friend choosing to let their story lose wonder for me to see my story is also fading. Sometimes it takes a jolt of reality to know remember I was not called to judge, but to love.

Tonight, as I write this, I realize my story isn't going to be worth reading if I don't let my world grow. More importantly, my story isn't worth anything unless Jesus Christ is the author. So I cheer on those who are letting Jesus author their stories, and I send out a plea to the rest of us: Wouldn't it be amazing if life couldn't be reduced to "just going on" simply by us letting go and trusting the Creator of the Universe to "grow up" our worlds?