Cooler days, colorful leaves, cups of warm coffee. The list of things I love about autumn goes on and on, and while part of me is really excited for something new, a big part of me doesn’t like change at all.
Even though I’m not fond of it, change, in all its many forms, has been forefront in my mind for a while now. For example, bringing home a new baby is one of the biggest upheavals I know of. No sleep, no time, no energy. Everything is upside down. And then 18 years later more changes as they leave the nest. More quiet, less chaos, a complete reversal once again.
Change is a funny thing though. Or maybe we are just fickle and never satisfied. If the same set of circumstances happen too often, we complain. “Nothing exciting ever happens. Everything is just the same old, same old.“
But let the winds of change start blowing, and we slam on the brakes and start to panic. Our window of comfort is incredibly tiny. We want change, but we’re scared of it. To the best of my knowledge since we can’t do a lot about how much or how little change arrives on our doorstep, the only other option is modifying how we react to it.
When big changes come, we talk about overcoming our fears, and that’s a whole other topic in itself. But what about when we’re stuck in a rut? Nothing changes. It drives us crazy; it’s a scenario much like the movie Groundhog's Day?
I visited a friend the other day who had a new-ish baby (7 months). It was so much fun, and of course, the baby was precious. You know when I say that, it means I got to hold her AND she smiled at me.
I couldn't believe how long it had been since I had held a baby. That soft skin, those skinny little arms and the little noggin you just can’t help but kiss.
As I sat there holding that sweet little girl, I, of course, went through memories of my own daughter. I remembered playing peep-eye (or peek-a-boo for you not-so-southern people), and reading books and a hundred other things that we did over and over and over again. I remember reading a single book so many times I could quote the whole thing. And still my daughter would say, “again”.
Dear stars in heaven, there were times when I wanted to scream in frustration as I went to close the book and that little voice would chirp up, “again”. I just wasn’t built for that kind of repetition, but then I’d see that sweet little face and those bright, eager eyes, “again” and we’d read it one more time.
It reminded me of something I read by G.K. Chesterton, the English writer and philosopher.
“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun: and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”
We could learn a great deal from this. Maybe it's time for the teachers to become the students?
