The more you know, the less you know...

Nothing gets me writing faster than work.

Writing as a bail-out has been a plan I kept in my back pocket since I was seven. Right after I started keeping a diary.

"Sarah...it's been five hours and your room is STILL untouched."  

 

That's when you do the 23 minute shove and stuff under beds, into closets and right inside dresser drawers.

I have avoided writing, because I don't understand what God is doing with me. There are so many things going on in my heart. My life. My brain is a mess. You can probably guess; I'm no good at multi-tasking. It's bull-crap what they say about women and multi-tasking.

However, while I was sweeping just now. (The kids are in bed, and we are having company in the morning. Why else would I be cleaning!?) I was having some deep thoughts:

Somewhere along the lines of that saying, "The more you know, the less you know," or "The more you learn, the less you understand."

The day I was born, I had the official soul of an 85-year-old woman. I've always felt old. My older brother used to call me Dr. Yikky-Yak. If you ask my parents, they might tell you that I was a good kid. But, they get an interestingly pained look on their faces, that says, "I'm SO glad she grew out of that stage." That...ten-year-stage of know-it-all-ness.Well, kind of grew out of it. Mostly I moved out and got married.

Apparently I argue a lot, too. That's why God gave me a husband who can whoop me mentally/intellectually. (And, YES. It hurt to write that.)  I am a brat. Jason will forever regret saying he liked how, "feisty," I am. I'm still a know-it-all. Totally. 

I vividly remember my grandpa Jack looking at me while he and my dad were talking. Or trying to talk. I'm sure I was interrupting, arguing, or teasing. He looked down at me (with those awesome blue eyes that MY Jack has now) smiling gently, smirking slightly and then said to my dad, "I feel a little bit sorry for him." And, then just kept on going with his original conversation. He wouldn't divulge any more than that. Probably the rudest thing he ever said to me! 

(He and my dad are the kind of men that most girls only get to dream about having for their pater familias. They are great. SUPER great.)

I had NO idea what they were talking about. But, being the relentlessly nosy person that I am, I finally got my dad to tell me, "Honey, he just meant your husband."

"Husband!? I'm not getting married!"

Nope. Not getting married....

Got it all planned out.

As I approach my mid-midlife-crisis (Is that what you call 30?), I feel like I'm on... the verge. 

"Verge of what?"

Heck, I don't know.

Just on the verge. 

I've spent a lot of time being old; while I was young. And, now that I'm finally starting to see the first genuine signs of aging. I think I'd like to stay young a little longer. Like, forever.

As trite as that sounds-- I don't mean young looking.  But, I mean it in a heart way. To be hopeful. To have energy to serve. To give second chances. To have child-like faith.To stop defining my life by the things I don't do, or like, or have. To trust. To love. To NOT act like I know so much. Because I don't. I really don't.

I'm learning to celebrate my weaknesses. A tiny, weeny, itty-bitty bit.

In closing dear ones...I leave you with the brilliance of someone else:

"God Himself  is man's birthplace. God is the self that makes the soul able to say, I too, am."

"THERE IS A CHILDHOOD into which we have to grow, just as there is a childhood which we must leave behind. One is a childishness from which but few of those who are counted wisest among men have freed themselves. The other is a child-likeness, which is the highest gain of humanity. "

~George MacDonald