Cultivating

We are all on the way to becoming more, better, new, different. That’s what Gwendolyn says during many of our discussions at the book club in the library. She does not want to be the same yesterday as she was the day before. In that, she is consistent.

The “me” you see when you meet me is a new me, because every day is a new day. The same is true for you. Or it should be. You are what you have read, seen, felt, experienced, tossed aside, and kept.

My mom once told my older brother, her first born, that she didn’t know what to do with a sixteen-year-old son. She’d never had one before. Along with that, she’d never been whatever age it was she was then, either.

They were both doing the best they could, with what they had, right where they were. Every day is surely a new day. We count on it. We hope in it.

When we meet someone, what we see before us is the one who has withstood, become jaded, endured the crushing of dreams, and felt pain. Or, just maybe, we are introduced to the victorious one, the champion, the one healed.

We meet people. They meet us. We do well to remember we, us, we are all in our “becoming.” No one has arrived.