Becoming
One of the quiet burdens I often see in young people, especially those between eighteen and twenty-eight, is the feeling that they must already be.
There is an urgency to arrive.
An anxious insistence that they must already know who they are, what they believe, where they are going, and what they will become.
But perhaps one of the great mercies of God is that He does not ask us to arrive before our time.
When we are children, we understand that we are growing. We are learning, changing, stumbling, and discovering.
No one expects a child to possess the wisdom of age. Yet somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, many begin to believe they should already be finished.
So we defend ourselves fiercely. We cling to our opinions. We mistake our present selves for our permanent selves.
And then, by the grace of God, life teaches us otherwise.
A year passes. We learn something. We suffer something. We love someone. We fail. We repent. We see more clearly.
And we change.
What once seemed certain may no longer seem so. What we once valued may lose its shine. What we once dismissed may become precious. This is not always inconsistency. Sometimes it is growth.
I have seen many young people discouraged—even plunged into despair—because of who they are at the moment. They look at someone farther down the road and compare their unfinished life with another person's maturity.
They see virtues they do not yet possess. Wisdom they have not yet gained. Accomplishments they have not yet achieved.
And they forget:
They are still becoming.
They have mistaken the workshop for the finished house.
But God is not finished with them.
The early years of adulthood are often the years when we begin to discover what we consider noble, beautiful, valuable, and true. We begin to recognize the kind of person we hope to become.
And then comes the long and holy work.
We gather some things.
We shed others.
We learn to embrace what is good and release what is destructive. We repent of some things. We outgrow others. We carry a few scars into wisdom.
Little by little, year by year, the soul is shaped.
And if we walk humbly with God, even our failures need not be wasted.
Perhaps that is the wonder of becoming: God does not merely command us to grow; He walks with us while we grow.
He is patient with the unfinished.
He is not startled by our weakness.
He does not confuse our present condition with our final destination.
The Scriptures tell us that we are being changed from glory to glory. The work is not finished in a day, or a year, or even a lifetime. We are pilgrims, travelers, works still beneath the Master's hand.
The process of becoming lasts as long as we live.
The tragedy is not that we have not yet arrived.
The tragedy is only when we cease to seek what is good, cease to rise after falling, and cease to follow the light we have been given.
So be patient with yourself.
You are not merely what you are today.
You are also, by the grace of God, what you are becoming.
Carl Sandburg expressed something of this beautifully:
“I love you for what you are, but I love you yet more for what you are going to be. I love you not so much for your realities as for your ideals. I pray for your desires that they may be great, rather than for your satisfactions, which may be so hazardously little.
Not always shall you be what you are now. You are going forward toward something great. I am on the way with you and therefore I love you.”
May we have the grace to be patient with the unfinished work in ourselves and in one another.
For we are still becoming.
And God is still at work.