Ignorance Doesn't Change the World

Wasn’t it easier in the lunchbox days?

Always a bigger bed to crawl into?

Wasn’t it beautiful when you believed in everything?

Everybody believed in you?

‘Innocent’ – Taylor Swift

Sometimes,

I wish that I could go

Back to the days

When

My biggest decision

Was who to invite to my birthday party

Or which OPI Nail Lacquer to buy

And

My biggest prayer request

Was that I would 

“Do well” in my exam or presentation.

When

My biggest problem

Was an unfair teacher

Or conflicting social events.

When

My biggest worry

Was that I wouldn’t get a date to the prom

Or be accepted to a good college

And

My biggest spiritual hurdle

Was how to “Be a witness”

To my friends who

(gasp)

swore.

The days

When

I could buy a product without

Wondering

About the the people who made it

(fair trade)

(sweat shops)

(chemical exposure)

(child labour)

(conflict minerals)

And therefore become

Conflicted

Myself.

The days

When

Having a crush on a boy

Meant I never had to

Actually

Talk to him.

The days

Before I started thinking critically.

The days

Before I left my “bubble.”

The days
Before I learned
That believing in God
Can be hard sometimes.
Before I wondered
What Jesus really meant
When He said,
"Follow Me."

The days

Before I watched the news.

Before I interacted with the oppressed.

Before I saw people’s spiritual wounds.

Before I experienced a world of unnecessary suffering.

Before I knew heartbreak.

Before I recognized my privilege.

Before I asked questions.

Things were easier in the lunchbox days.

These days are hard,

And sometimes they hurt.

But I believe they are worth it.

I guess it's true what they say,

That

Ignorance is bliss.

But ignorance doesn’t

Change the world.


And it won't change me, either.

I Feel Old

I know I’m too young to say this, but sometimes there are moments where I forget that I’m not 17 anymore.  And when the reality of my 25 years of age hits me, it’s really quite sad.

In the moment, I don’t think “Wow I feel like I’m 17” (or 19, or 23 – all numbers that were great ages and that I sometimes feel I will always be).  Rather, it’s in the midst of the moment that I realize I am 25.  And it’s when I remember that I’m 25 that I remember that I’m not 17 anymore.

I’m not in high school, I’m not in college.  I have to be responsible.  I can’t play all the time. Nobody is around to take care of me.  I have to make good decisions. 

Actually, I was always responsible.  I rarely played.  And I have always made good decisions.  Perhaps it is in moments like these that the sadness I feel is more of a mourning – a mourning of the irresponsibility I didn’t permitted myself, the playtime I didn’t have, the independence I asserted, the bad choices I never allowed myself to make.

I can’t think of a concrete example that has spurred this feeling, but it has happened several times in the past couple weeks.   It’s kind of a small burden that sets itself upon me and says, “You’re 25, Jen.  You have responsibilities.  People look up to you.  You have to take care of yourself; others won’t take care of you.  You can have fun, be lighthearted for a moment, but life is serious now.” 

You’re a grown up.

My cute grandma is upwards of 75 years old.  Last spring, as she jumped onto the back of a moving golf cart, she rolled into me, laughing, and said, “Sometimes, I just pretend to be old.”  I will never forget this, and every time I think of it, I smile.  Let me be always young at heart.