How it feels to grow

I've never felt myself growing older.

Sure, I've grown taller. Boobs have somehow rounded themselves on my chest. I've watched my body stretch and mold into this person that some days, I can't recognize. Aside from haircuts, these changes are slow processes--their existence only seen in new stretch marks or a progression of photos taken several years apart. I've looked at pictures from the past several years. I've changed so much outwardly that I have a hard time recognizing that it could possibly be the same person within. I feel like I'm living the old cat tale of nine lives.

The weekend before last, we went hiking at Twin Falls. There is nothing more pure than oxygen fresh out of leaves.

The soggy, scattered trees welcomed us, and I slowly began to feel myself age--to feel the progression of time. With a spring in my step, I hopped over fallen logs and down along the shore of the river. I pushed the toe of boots into the sand and watched the water dissipate and then return when I removed the pressure. Sand as sponge.

I climbed up rocks and swung along low-hanging branches in tiny leaps. Worldly constraints disappeared in the rush of water and silence of trees. And yet, I took a leap. I jumped down a steep curve in the path, and for probably the first time, it actually occurred to me that I am no longer ten years old. My heels pounded into the dirt without rebound. I could feel my vertebrae tense on impact, and my chest  echoed a heavy bounce. I paused, hands out for balance, and felt the moment. I'm not a lanky, flat-chested little girl with endless energy, strong joints, and an absence of fear.

But I once was.

And somewhere, I still am, but certainly not on the outside. I saw myself reflected in the trees. As the old, rotting stumps stood firm to their roots, new saplings simply grew over--aging additions, transitions to new life.

I saw myself in these plants, but I could have stared at those trees all day and still not figured it out--am I the rot, the root, or the new-growing trunk?

Then we came across this.

I imagine it must be what following Jesus is like. A slow transformation that takes over your whole being. Your new sources are the roots that dig directly into your skin. The old pieces of you crumble away as a new creation takes form.

I've talked to a few believers about how they knew they wanted to follow Jesus. One person described it to me as, "I was really struggling and couldn't grasp the concept of Jesus. Then, one day, it changed."

"What happened?!" I asked, eager for the big response.

"I found Jesus!" He was so enthusiastic about it, but his answer let me down. I was no closer to feeling that "aha" this-makes-sense solid notion.

It takes a long time for a seed to become a tree, but if you leap, land, and pause, you can feel the roots stretch.

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And in it all, I think of a poem from Rilke's Book of Hours:

I live my life in widening circles

that reach out across the world.

I may not complete this last one

but I give myself to it.

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.

I've been circling for thousands of years

and I still don't know: am I falcon,

a storm, or a great song?