Recapturing the Wonder

"Critics who treat adult as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence. And in childhood and adolescence they are in moderation, healthy symptoms. Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development. When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up." (Lewis)

Hmm...it is nice to know that someone, especially of great intellect, also finds it undesireable to be very grown up. Why is it that one has to lose their sense of wonderment to be counted as one with a voice worthy of hearing? Or may be we secretly despise the fact that some are able to maintain this, while life has seemingly beaten the passion out of the rest of us so that we are not able to live it as it was intended. My thoughts resonate with those of Lewis'. My desire is to put away such childish things, including the desire to be 'very grown-up.'

"Junior-High Girl",
Alana

Ruin

I recently came across a poem by C.S. Lewis that has taken hold of me. At this point I cannot tell you how many times I have read it; but it's been many. So, I thought I would post it for anyone else who might enjoy it.

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.
I never had a selfless thought since I was born.
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through;
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin;
I talk of love-a scholar's parrot may talk
Greek-
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

Only that now you have taught me (but how late)
my lack.
I see the chasm. And everything you are was
making
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back
From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is
Breaking.

For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains
You give me are more precious than all other
Gains.

To see the 'ruin' as a blessing is the challenge that life presents. Often I wonder if all the other pains that our relationships bring are worth what it cost. Honestly, there are many days that I think not. But I must concede and say 'the pains are more precious than all other gains.'