“I need not belabour the point that to retain our childlike openness does not mean to be childish. Only the most mature of us are able to be childlike. And to be able to be child like involves memory; we must never forget any part of ourselves. . . I am not an isolated, chronological numerical statistic…If we lose any part of ourselves, we are thereby diminished.

“If I cannot be thirteen and sixty-one simultaneously, part of me has been taken away…I am still in the process of growing up, but I will make no progress if I lose any of myself on the way.” Madeleine L’Engle Walking on Water

Just this morning, a friend on Facebook asked for favorite quotes. I listed about seven of my top who-knows-how-many. One that I included came from a sermon I heard as a teen. The speaker (whom I cannot recall) said, “Pray you grow up before you grow old.” I’ve always felt that to be quite deep, and something that I noticed many adults lacked. Another quote that I didn’t include (because I had to draw the line somewhere) was from Ziggy Marley,”People don’t stop playing because they grow old, they grow old because they stop playing.” This seems to be another adult dilemma.

A flicker of the dichotomy that those two ideas assert caused a brief tweak in my subconscious. Somehow, I knew they  were really two halves of a whole, but I didn’t have time to stop and ponder. Enter the wisdom of ML’E and God’s perfect timing. A full life isn’t about one or the other, it’s about both!

This insight is rather Lewis-esque, don’t you think? One of those ideas hidden in plain sight. A gem of truth that we all share a gut instinct about but—like a Texas grasshopper—it always seems to elude capture (okay, in the case of a grasshopper it would be smashed into oblivion, but you get the picture). When I opened my copy of Walking on Water today, I had to marvel at the topic.

The grown up world can be harsh . . . cruel, even. All the grandiose dreams we harold from graduation podiums most often dwindle into oblivion, if they don’t come to a screeching halt first. Have you heard that song from Paramore, “Ain’t it Fun?” I’ve often thought that it would be the perfect anthem for high school reunions 🙂 They croon:

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“I don’t mind letting you down easy

But just give it time,

If it don’t hurt now then just wait, just wait a while.

Ain’t it fun, living in the real world?

Ain’t it good, being all alone?

Ain’t it good to be on your own?

Ain’t it fun you can’t count on no one?

Ain’t it fun living in the real world?”

(some lyrics left out).

Who among us hasn’t experienced the dredges of reality? I’m not talking about laundry and snotty noses that need wiping, although there’s a plethora of those. I’m talking about friend’s that betray us, parents that abandon us, spouses that are unfaithful, sickness that debilitates, bosses that demand unreasonable things, political correctness that stifles, Christian traditions that make the Word of God to no effect. There’s a Goliath size laundry list of grievances that threaten to overwhelm us and there are joy-starving circumstances as deep as the Red Sea that threaten to drown us.

How does one become an adult that maneuvers through such land mines and yet retains their joyful sense of wonder?

The secret, according to ML’E is to not “lose any of [ourselves] along the way.”

We must continue to remember “the former things.” How many times does God command us to do just that? Yes, there’s certainly a larger, spiritual principle at the heart of this statement—but I love how scripture often has layers of application. We can remember the former things . . . from gazing at an inky sky, dusted with diamonds and whispering that we are not alone . . . to building sandcastles that must be defended from big-brother dragons and saltwater bulldozers. Ah! Those moments of playfulness, and the pleasure of being carefree, offered so much promise and possibility as a child.

Do you remember?

It may take some intentionality on our part to recollect. Peeling back layers of self protection, multitasking, bills to be paid, and other grownup responsibilities is daunting. C.S. Lewis, in his book Surprised by Joy, says, “It is not settled happiness, but momentary joy, that glorifies the past.” Those stabs of delight and wonder still cocoon themselves in our hearts. It is our job, particularly as artists, to wake them, and get reacquainted. The beauty in this will shine as we use the lens of hindsight to interpret what those joys and longings mean for the here-and-now. Not so we can look on such desires with a cynical roll of the eyes. Rather, savoring those hopes and seasoning those dreams from the younger you with the wisdom of the older you. Reviving, renewing, repurposing those inspirations.

To quote the genius of Lewis again, “All Joy reminds. It is never a possession, always a desire for something longer ago or further away or still ‘about to be’.” Do you see the connection, friend? Those longings from the past exist to urge us on to what is “about to be.”

But only if we allow our grown-up self to come out and play, once again, with our childlike self. I’m not talking about reinventing our image, or embracing foolishness—that’s the world’s counterfeit version of what I believe ML’E and Lewis are talking about here. I think when we grasp this idea, by God’s grace, we will become saltier salt and brighter light.

As believers we have what the world longs for. Yet, for the most part, we print out a long list of rules, tie them to a rock, and hurl it at mankind. Why not allow The Light to unfurl in our smile, in our perspective, in our kind tone toward our family, our joyful service at work, and maybe in poems, stories, songs, sculptures, and dances that reflect the abundant Giver of all good gifts? Why not live an adventure, instead of the American dream?

We are blessed to live in a land ripe with possibility. Let’s not squander that privilege. That’s not to say that every dream gets a fairytale ending. I don’t believe in a God who only wants to prosper me with happily-ever-after. But I believe in a God who is good and He wants me to reflect that in everything from a brief glance to the stories that I write. 

If we each decided to pursue the wonder-filled child we once were, couldn’t we start a quiet sort of revolution? A revolt against mediocrity, blandness, rule enforcement, and numb shuffling through the crowd?

I’ve never thought of myself as a revolutionary, but I’m not too old to begin 🙂

Have you learned to partner the younger-you with the older-you? What have you found to be the biggest obstacle in doing this? What are the most rewarding benefits?