Sometimes...

Thursday, July 7, 2011

...I don't want to grow up.

It's usually when I'm tired and feel exceptionally young.

I realize how little I am, how big and demanding the great noisy world is. It's quite nice, you know, being a child. Not to have to have any real worries, responsibilities, or commitments, like taxes, working, bills, or even spouses and babies. 


 When the world is too much, and mental exhaustion and genuine weariness sets it, we can still close our eyes, curl up, and forget the outside world pounding on the door. There are others to carry us: mothers and fathers - who were children once too - but now grown, brush our heads with a cool, nurturing hand, a gentle knowing smile, and pick us up when we're too tired to go further.


 A comfortable peace fills one's soul at the sleepy, reassuring knowledge that home is near, like a door suddenly opening and spilling warm, golden light in the falling dusk of a long day...Or the smell of home, the dear familiar scents of your personal world blending with the delightful aroma of a hot, homemade dinner coupled with the sweet fact that your bed waits with clean (perhaps ;) ) sheets, ready to welcome you with delicious softness.

Often the mere knowledge that there is a place of welcome and refuge is enough to soothe our weary spirits. 

"I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there." (LotR: FoR)


Sometimes, it is nice to be small and taken care of. Sometimes it is nice to be weak. 


 All things have their season, including being a child. Ours is the golden time of laughter, friendship, and play. Now is the time to laugh freely, scamper, dream lovely dreams, count the stars, and bask in carefree joie de vivre. Growing up - a wonderful, exciting, and adventurous as it may be - comes with a set of responsibilities we are still too small for. 
 Even falling in love, lovely and life-changing as it is not for us yet...it's almost like giving a beautiful, moving, awe-inspiring book, like The Lord of the Rings, to a wee tot who is barely able to read. They may be able to listen to the story be read aloud but it is not until they are older and have matured that they can read it themselves and laugh, weep, and sigh by turns as the story deeply moves them. 


 If all things came early, the world would be a jumbled, unhappy place. For what is joy of reading the first few pages of a book, then skipping to the end? The richness of journeying and falling in love with the characters is lost. Though it is a fact often forgotten by many, the journey is more important than the destination. What would have The LotR have been if the Fellowship had not had to fight, struggle, and plod their way to Morder? Had Frodo been magically whisked to Mount Doom, the moment he stepped forward in Rivendell and offered to carry the Ring there, it is probable he would not have had the immense courage to stand at the edge of the fiery chasm - and Gollum certainly wouldn't have been there to play a role in the Ring's destruction.


We never quite know what the future holds - and it is better, I think, to not know. Growing up lays ahead of us. For now though, we are still little children. 
For now, we can sleep. For when we sleep, we dream...of Neverland, sugarplums, shoes, ships, and sealing wax. :)