Growing

People use door posts to mark the physical growth of their kids. I mean, I never did, but people do, right? Get the pocketknife out and carve a notch right above their heads. “Susie – 5/14/96, 5yr.” “Jack – 6/23/96, 8yr.” They stood this tall two years ago – now, they’re up to here.

Would that it were so easy to record the other ways we grow.

I had a conversation on the phone yesterday with a guy about an invoice his company sent me. I knew they had charged me too much. I explained the situation, and he put me on a long hold while he looked into their records. When he came back, I had to explain more – and he had to explain more – and I pointed out where he was wrong – and he pointed out where I was wrong – and we finally came to a resolution. The whole exchange was frustrating, even though the young man was trying to be as helpful as possible. But I was calm and clear and confident and downright cheerful, even, people! Felt pretty good about myself when it was done.

Three years ago, this scenario would have taken an entirely different path. If I had gotten a bill like that in the middle of my separation, my heart would have started racing . . . my head would have started spinning . . . tears would have filled my eyes as I fought panic. What does this mean?? What did I do wrong?? What do I do now?? I would have fretted for an hour before dialing the customer service number, and I probably would have stammered through the conversation incomprehensibly – because I wouldn’t have known what to say, what to ask, what to do. Actually, no – I doubt I would have made the call at all, if I’m honest. I would have paced around the house fretting and finally decided to just pay the dang bill . . . and then cried at my incompetence and what it forebode for my future.

Personal growth. Dig a gash into the door frame: I used to be there – now I’m here.

This past June, I took five different trips. I booked flights, reserved hotel rooms, picked up rental cars, cancelled and rebooked several of the above, googled addresses, maneuvered unfamiliar highways, packed and unpacked and repacked . . . I spent many more nights in hotels that month than I did at home. In earlier years of my life, that kind of travel schedule would have sent me over the edge of stress. I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy a minute of it. And yes, there was stress on these trips . . . but there was a lot of joy, too. I caught myself every once in a while feeling joy and relaxation that I couldn’t come up with an explanation for, that would have been completely foreign to an earlier version of me.

Thank you, Jesus. Personal growth.

Back in the early 90s sometime, the church I attended gave us all a spiritual growth survey. It was to evaluate where you were in your relationship to Christ. How often do you read your Bible? How often do you pray? How often do you see answers to your prayers? How many people do you witness to? What fruits of the Spirit are evident in your life? Do you love? Do you feel joy? Do you have peace? Where are you lacking? How are you going to improve in that area?

Y’all, it was the most discouraging exercise. It sent me into legalistic swamps of do’s and don’ts and must’s and mustn’ts and not-quite-there-yets and never-good-enoughs. And it had no discernible effect on my spiritual maturity.

But I have grown spiritually over the years. You know how? I’m not sure I could tell you. I went to church and Bible studies when I could. I loved with Christian friends – we laughed and cried and fed each other and carried each other and prayed with each other and answered each other’s texts in the middle of the night. I wept on the floor of my closet, wrestling with God. I failed at things I tried hard at and apologized for my mistakes and soaked up the praise of those who appreciated what I was good at. I looked for God . . . marveled at God . . . ached for God . . . sought God at every turn.

And one day, I woke up and realized I was sleeping alone in a home with my own name on the lease and no longer afraid of intruders, monsters, or my own incompetence.

I used to be there. Now I’m here.

I’m starting to suspect that personal and spiritual growth is kind of like my kids’ physical growth: there are no required, prescribed steps to make it happen. You can’t pick a goal for your adult height and do things to get there, and you can’t make progress in your Self that way either. You just do the things you know you’re supposed to do: sleep well, talk to God, love your neighbor, eat your vegetables. You intentionally do the right things . . . and God turns that into growth. It’s what he does.

The release I feel when I let God be God – it’s such a GIFT.