Change

I’ve never been very good with change. I remember one time when I was younger, coming home from who-knows-where and discovering that the pine tree in our backyard had been chopped down. I could barely breathe for a minute. And then it was anger and hysterics, because my mom obviously had not understood how important that tree was for my climbing habits. For months, I stared at that large stump as it was slowly covered over with grass and I imagined that with the destruction of that tree, a part of my life had been lost forever.

I am so glad I was not an Israelite. As I read of their complaints about the manna something rings familiar. I can just see all that stress building up in me, hardly able to handle the change, so I turn my attention to the small things and gripe about them. It’s always so much easier to complain about change than it is to accept it, to pray about it, to be thankful for it. My gracious, if I had been an apostle… what with Jesus dying, rising from the dead, and ascending into heaven in such a short time I think I might have gone into cardiac arrest.

Going off to college almost killed me. New people, new places, new food. Thank goodness I was able to stay vertical. Coming back home hasn’t been quite as easy as I thought it would be. Somehow I think I was thinking that because I lived here for a couple of years before college it would be a cinch. But, more change. I had to leave the food, the people, the places I had begun to adjust to and adjust back. Not only that, I no longer have a room. I tried to ignore that change, knowing I would have to face it eventually, but not wanting to. Finally I did. And it slapped me up the side of the head like a two-by-four. Being the great sinner that I am, I haven’t taken it well. I don’t think I’ve ever really been grateful for any change besides my salvation. But God’s working on me. He’s molding me, sanctifying me. And little by little, I’m changing.