Even as a child, I never remember fearing or dreading becoming an adult. I had much interaction with adults as I grew up, and was blessed to have many advocating for me, loving me, and being there for me in various ways. I’ve always been more of an old soul. I was never much for imaginary games or, later on, many of the fads or obsessions my peers involved themselves in. There was never really anything intimidating to me about entering the adult world—I started my own business at age fourteen designing and importing custom soccer balls for Colorado youth teams—and I have worked since. I’m grateful to the parents that I have that encouraged and enabled me to be able to do anything, and supported me throughout the whole process.
Therefore, I can’t exactly pinpoint if there is a moment or period of time when I officially became an adult. Some say it’s when you leave home for the first time; I moved to California for college when I was 18. Some say it’s when you’re working full-time; I first did that for a summer when I was 18, but this last year has been the first full year of working full time. Some say it’s when you get married; I was wed at 23. Others say it’s when you’re financially independent and self-sustaining; that has been in the last two years.
But then there are those other things that people talk about that show signs of being an adult. For example, throughout my entire life, my parents have talked to me repeatedly about when I make a mistake, to just own up to it, without giving a reason or excuse why. That has been an aspect of maturity I have lacked, and am just now humbly growing into this year. Then, there’s times when someone close to you is going through a difficult time, and unknowingly you are thrust into this position of being one who has wisdom and understanding, as they seek your eyes and mind for answers or comfort. One that has stayed with me lately is that the world is not as black and white as I used to think it was, and there are many answers I do not have or cannot reach.
I finished a novel this week that has some haunting lines resounding in my heart:
“I’m not normally so impressed by young writers. Altogether too self-consciously clever, too pat, too neat. Creative nonfiction is particularly repulsive—blurring the line between fact and fiction in a world already unable to distinguish one from the other. Your piece, however—it was nothing but a list of questions and doubts. No attempt to provide any answers. A lament, really. You were painfully aware of your limitations—and played to them in a way that was rather interesting…Questions are all that matter. The answers don’t belong to you.”
-The Writing on My Forehead, pgs 222-223
As a child, it seems that the answers we know are either concrete or elusive—those that are elusive are attributed to the statement that “you’re just too young to understand.” That statement bears with itself this premise that one day, when the question comes up again, the answer will be able to be understood. I think this is perhaps true. But what I am tending to find is that for all the lingering questions finally answered in adulthood, more meaningful and also, more difficult questions arise.
As a child, we have limitations. Yet, adulthood does not mean a lack of limitations—instead, like the questions, there become different ones. And adults—bewildering knowledge this would be to a child—we’re still trying to figure things out. Sometimes we masquerade ourselves in a blanket of confidence and other times we are painfully aware of our limitations that cannot be hidden. There is never a pinnacle to which we summit in completion of knowledge, and there are always more summits that surround. Therefore, we work at it each day. We work with our fellow men, sometimes in triumph, sometimes in sufficiency, sometimes in trial, and sometimes in failure. This is being part of the human race, something that we cannot escape, save for death.
Throughout our life, there seems to be this inevitable strain. Questions will go unanswered. Circumstances will transpire that we cannot make sense of. We will be thrust into positions that we are ill-equipped for. The responsibilities of life can be heavy burdens at times, and sometimes feel as too much.
Yet, we have this Shepherd, this great high-priest who has walked before us. He overcame what we never will be able to. And, by faith in Him, there is rest in the lack of answers. He is enough. It seems trite, but it is profound. Out of all the questions, can there be an overarching answer? An answer that does not fit within any comfortable bounds, but requires trust and faith in His wisdom higher than ours, His ways not always understood—but ultimately good? Yes, I believe this to be true; I believe the gospel as true, and as I venture forth in adulthood, it is only reinforced more.
“Questions are all that matter. The answers don’t belong to [me].” The answers belong to God, and only in His perfect wisdom, does He know whether it’s best for us to know or not. There will be a strain as we strive to understand but also seek to trust in His sovereignty with what we don’t. We are never going to arrive at a point of completion in this life—but we can strive to know and trust more fully the One who, in Himself, is fully complete.
“God does not give us overcoming life— He gives us life as we overcome. The strain of life is what builds our strength. If there is no strain, there will be no strength. Are you asking God to give you life, liberty, and joy? He cannot, unless you are willing to accept the strain. And once you face the strain, you will immediately get the strength. Overcome your own timidity and take the first step. Then God will give you nourishment— “To him who overcomes I will give to eat from the tree of life . . .” (Revelation 2:7). If you completely give of yourself physically, you become exhausted. But when you give of yourself spiritually, you get more strength. God never gives us strength for tomorrow, or for the next hour, but only for the strain of the moment. Our temptation is to face adversities from the standpoint of our own common sense.
But a saint can “be of good cheer” even when seemingly defeated by adversities, because victory is absurdly impossible to everyone, except God." -Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, August 2nd
