We wonder at the things that have happened. We see how our thoughts have changed, the way we view old books that once pleased us, old movies that stirred us, old fiends who made us laugh.
We see our faces in the mirror and see nothing has changed. The same hair, thin or full. The same yellowed or white teeth. The same complexion, smooth or wrinkled. Whatever existed before remains, unaltered yet to the perfect body of resurrection. We remain our mortal selves.
Then something happens.
A husband says, "Something about you is different."
A buddy says, "You never come to the bar anymore."
A guy at work says, "You don't swear like you used to."
And we understand that what's going on inside flows outside.
Funny, but when we did it on the outside, it never flowed inward.
Can we become more on the outside now, too? Is it just happening? Can we accelerate it? Faster and faster to a better us? Can we learn to just let it happen?
With his voice somewhere deep inside saying, "I'm waiting for you. You'll slip and fall. You'll skate on your ego and land on your assumptions, but you'll grow. You'll be busy becoming. You'll be busy becoming someone in small steps down here. I'll be here with you. And I'll be out there. Waiting."
