And lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age. Matthew 28:20 (NAS)
When I was a teenager, my brother and sister and I liked to gather around my five-foot-three mother. We’d look around as if searching for her and ask in jest, “Hey, have you seen Mom? Where’s Mom?”
Poor Mom. And soon, poor me. My days of towering over my children are numbered. Elizabeth has stabilized at about my mother’s height, but John and Mary are already there and they still have a long way to grow. Maggie’s always been an Amazon and towers over her peers. Only little Stephen (who’s still in size four) is likely to be looking up to me for a while.
Suddenly, I’m a mom of big kids. My conversations are no longer punctuated by dashes after a two-year-old. I don’t have a baby for whom I need to carry a set of clean clothes. My shoulder bag is lighter; the stains on the laundry are fewer. Instead of having toddlers with ten short meltdowns a day, I have teenagers who condense their angst into occasional three-hour marathons.
Life is different; I’m different too. I’ve grown more understanding in some ways and crankier in others. I listen more and talk less. I have less energy. I have more time to myself. And as I reach middle age, I wonder, Do I know God better than I did a decade ago? If I could go back in time for an afternoon, would my faith back then be richer or poorer than it is now?
I ponder this (I ponder more nowadays) and conclude that perhaps I’m asking the wrong question. I’ve grown up with God, walked and talked with Him all these years. Most likely, faith has its own flavor and texture over time, in the way that being a mother of toddlers is different from being a mother of teens.
Jesus, thank You for being beside me all these years. Help me love You more, always more.
