I want to tell you a story so pull up a chair...
There once was a little girl. This little girl always found
herself longing…longing for the next thing.
She often felt like life was like dangling on the monkey bars on the playground,
swaying back and forth, back and forth, this girl was just trying to muster up
the strength to swing herself to the next rung, the next big thing.
It started from the beginning. As a young girl, all she
could dream about was becoming a teenager. When
I’m a teenager, she would say, I can
drive and then I’ll be happy because I’ll be independent and free. So
swing, swing, swing she would on her monkey bars. She’d ride her banana seat
bike with a pink flowery basket around the neighborhood. Inside the basket was
a small battery operated radio shaped like McDonald’s French Fries. She’d turn
it on and pretend it was her car radio. She would drive in the street, stop at
all the stop signs, and make fake clicking sounds with her mouth and pretend it
was the sound of her turn signal.
Finally, she swung to that bar she had longed for and drive
she did. It wasn’t that banana seat bike masquerading as an automobile though.
It was a real car. But what she
didn’t know was that being a teenager was hard. It was where some of her
deepest wounds were cut in to her heart. Her first heartbreak. Her first
encounter of mean girls. Her first experiences of becoming a person she always
said she would never be. So, this girl, a little older now and with a license,
swung, swung, swung, back and forth, back and forth on the monkey bars of her
life. This time she set her sights on college. If she could just swing a little
harder and grab hold of her young adulthood, then she’d be happy, free to do as
she pleased out in the real world, she thought.
Swing, swing, swing she did and college came. However,
college wasn’t all she thought it would be. The freedom she had hoped and
wished for wasn’t completely free.
There were responsibilities and decisions to make that would impact the entire course of her life. It seemed
like there were so many doors, so many options to choose from, and she just
didn’t know which one to pick. The freedom she wanted was actually the very
thing that sought to suffocate her. This freedom was all hers now, but she just
didn’t know which door to choose. What if she chose the wrong one? What if she
opened it and fell flat on her face? Pick
the one that seems the most important, she said, and then you’ll be happy. So, with one lurch, she swung forward and
grabbed a rung that she thought would be it.
It was graduate
school and a big shiny career. Careers
will bring money and money will give you freedom, she thought. But, as she
got deeper and deeper in her studies, she realized she picked the wrong door.
It wasn’t the career for her and so her freedom was met with failure. Failure
felt like a freefall off the monkey bars, so she had to pick herself up, jump
straight up and grab the bar again. But the bars were so high and she was so
small. She struggled, trying to jump up and grab the bar she had fallen off of.
Struggle and jumping. But, finally she was back on the monkey bars, ready to
swing again. Find a man, she thought,
because love and romance, that is true
happiness and freedom. And so she swung.
She loved the man she chose. He was kind and handsome and
funny. And love was fun. But, she was ready to swing to the next bar. Marriage
required work and it didn’t feel as free as she thought it would. It was messy
at times in ways she never imagined. Two people becoming one meant a lot of
downsizing. She had to downsize her pride and that was hard because it was big
and she didn’t want to make it smaller. And it felt like something was missing.
Babies, she thought, babies will fulfill you and make you happy
and free, just swing on over. So
back and forth, back and forth she went and grabbed the next rung.
With a death grip, she held on. Babies came. But, they
didn’t come easy. There was morning sickness and weight gain. Pains in places
she never knew existed. And then there were heartaches with words like miscarriage. Sleepless nights and
toddler tantrums. Chaos and disorder. Little beings pushing against her every
command. Small humans with wills battling for control. Motherhood didn’t seem
so free. If I just get them raised,
she thought, then I’ll be free, then I’ll
be happy. So she swung, swung, swung a little harder until those babies
grew up and got dreams of their own and ran after them.
But, now that little girl, all grown up, just dangled on the
second to last rung. She just hung there because she knew she was almost to the
end. She had time now. Time to pursue all the things she wanted to do when
those babies were home and she couldn’t. But, her body and mind were tired.
They didn’t care about working out so much. Or reading a bunch of books. Or
shopping alone. Or organizing cupboards and pantries. They just wanted the
noise and life that were in the house just a few short years ago. The little
girl, all grown up, with newfound freedom, just wanted to swing, swing, swing
herself backwards to the rungs behind her, but she couldn’t because they had disappeared. Had she spent all of her
time wishing and wanting for things to come without knowing that what she truly
wanted was right in front of her? She didn’t need freedom, or at least not in
the way she thought. She thought freedom meant being able to do whatever you
wanted, whenever you wanted. But true
freedom was something so much more than that. True freedom required a
fight. It was a battle every day, on every rung to just allow herself to be.
To stop trying to swing herself forward and to enjoy the moment she had right
then. It meant looking at the scenery while cruising on a banana seat bicycle.
It was befriending that equally heartbroken, lonely teenage girl beside her in
math class. It required figuring out what she loved to do instead of trying to chase after what she thought would
make money. It was going to mean getting down low and mustering up sincere I’m sorry’s in the midst of the
struggles of marriage. It would be a sink full of dirty dishes
every.single.day. because today tables and couches were turning into forts and
princes and princesses were fighting imaginary dragons beneath them. It was a
hard fight for freedom. One that had
to be fought every single moment at every single rung of the little girl’s
monkey bars of a life. But if she fought hard, she found, something was
springing up inside her. It was like a tiny light peeking through drawn
curtains. Or a small flower breaking through the cracks of a concrete jungle.
With three letters, her freedom rose inside her.
J
O
Y
The little girl fell to the ground. Her arms were weak and
tired from hanging for so long, but the good news was she was off the monkey
bars. No more waiting to swing to the next rung. She was done with that. And so
off she ran to fight for her freedom. Laughing as she slid down the slide.
Looking in to the eyes of her friend next to her as they flew in to the air on
the swings. Enjoying the ups and downs of the seesaw. This, she thought, this
is what I’ve been looking for. This is freedom.
You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.
-Psalm 16:11
Here's to finding JOY right where you are!
-C.
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