Recently pondering children, and the process of growing up . . .
What of children? Who will they be, and what will they become? When once they are transformed in body and soul by that dreadful process known as growing up, will they still exist? Children are innocent. But how can you know, and how can you prepare? How can you ensure they will not die, just as they are becoming an adult? So many, when once they are granted the power to think abstractly, the emotion to like and to love, and the surging energy driving them to become an adult, have then, at that point, chosen a way I will never understand. So innocent, so pure; now so vile and wicked. It is a spiritual thing indeed to look at their pictures from when they were young. Who were they then? Were the seeds of rebellion and wantonness already planted? Or what was it that turned them into that way at that crucial age where we all begin our own paths? Oh dear God, the lostness of so many-- trying to find a way, and knowing no course. Trying to understand a world, with only a partially-developed sense of reason. Forced to make crucial decisions while drowned with emotion that almost controls every thought and action. How are we to understand?
Five or ten years later, when emotion has cleared, reason has developed, and youthful passion has passed its crest -- regret. Stamping down crying in the realization that the course is already set – barring out brooding, because of the overwhelming cataract of “what ifs” and “if I had onlys”. And yet, the passion is gone. The trail is not abandoned, the course is not altered. “Que será, será. -- Fate has now my destiny set. This is now my lot. I shall continue in the path I began; I know how to do nothing else.”
A person can die in so many ways. I've seen it happen. So many have died. The person they once were no longer exists. Somewhere, back there in those lost years, they died. Not a murder, no, but a slow starvation, life ebbing away until it is finally gone. What is left inhabiting the body can be more terrifying than a corpse. Sometimes you find a monster, sometimes a mouse. Sometimes there is a hostage in the midst of fierce warfare, sometimes there is nothing at all.
I fill with anger at this silent killer; this indefatigable stalker and relentless foe. But the battles are fought so silently, so isolated. Help is often barred out, and the one who cares, despised.
Dear God, be with our children, precious, innocent, and pure.
May each ever learn to love and serve you, Father, Guardian, and our Guide.
May your Spirit fill and keep them, ever, always, by your side.
Dear God, I pray thee, keep our children, may each make heaven sure.
This post revisits some ideas from earlier blogs:
http://dlorimer.livejournal.com/49340.html
http://dlorimer.livejournal.com/50911.html
http://dlorimer.livejournal.com/55584.html
What of children? Who will they be, and what will they become? When once they are transformed in body and soul by that dreadful process known as growing up, will they still exist? Children are innocent. But how can you know, and how can you prepare? How can you ensure they will not die, just as they are becoming an adult? So many, when once they are granted the power to think abstractly, the emotion to like and to love, and the surging energy driving them to become an adult, have then, at that point, chosen a way I will never understand. So innocent, so pure; now so vile and wicked. It is a spiritual thing indeed to look at their pictures from when they were young. Who were they then? Were the seeds of rebellion and wantonness already planted? Or what was it that turned them into that way at that crucial age where we all begin our own paths? Oh dear God, the lostness of so many-- trying to find a way, and knowing no course. Trying to understand a world, with only a partially-developed sense of reason. Forced to make crucial decisions while drowned with emotion that almost controls every thought and action. How are we to understand?
Five or ten years later, when emotion has cleared, reason has developed, and youthful passion has passed its crest -- regret. Stamping down crying in the realization that the course is already set – barring out brooding, because of the overwhelming cataract of “what ifs” and “if I had onlys”. And yet, the passion is gone. The trail is not abandoned, the course is not altered. “Que será, será. -- Fate has now my destiny set. This is now my lot. I shall continue in the path I began; I know how to do nothing else.”
A person can die in so many ways. I've seen it happen. So many have died. The person they once were no longer exists. Somewhere, back there in those lost years, they died. Not a murder, no, but a slow starvation, life ebbing away until it is finally gone. What is left inhabiting the body can be more terrifying than a corpse. Sometimes you find a monster, sometimes a mouse. Sometimes there is a hostage in the midst of fierce warfare, sometimes there is nothing at all.
I fill with anger at this silent killer; this indefatigable stalker and relentless foe. But the battles are fought so silently, so isolated. Help is often barred out, and the one who cares, despised.
Dear God, be with our children, precious, innocent, and pure.
May each ever learn to love and serve you, Father, Guardian, and our Guide.
May your Spirit fill and keep them, ever, always, by your side.
Dear God, I pray thee, keep our children, may each make heaven sure.
This post revisits some ideas from earlier blogs:
http://dlorimer.livejournal.com/49340.html
http://dlorimer.livejournal.com/50911.html
http://dlorimer.livejournal.com/55584.html
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