When I was a child, I acted as a child would
I woke up early on Saturdays to watch cartoons with my brother
I let my imagination run who I was on the day-to-day
Creating characters that were never birthed into fruition
And if I skipped breakfast, it was only because I didn’t know how to make it for myself
When I was a child, I spoke like a child
I didn’t understand the meaning of words like theology, calamity, destruction, depression
My made up stories were about beauty, talking animals, fairies, and life
Rather than ugliness, heartbreak, loneliness, death
When I was a child, I was innocent and free
Nothing bitter, harmful, or cancerous had yet touched me
The phrases that I used were still black and white
There were no hidden meanings in my replies
I was not yet broken, untrusting, or terrified
When I was a child, I was still able to dream
I was fully aware that the world is so much more than it seems
There was no reason that I couldn’t conquer the world
I could do absolutely anything; nothing was too big for this small girl
But I am not a child anymore!
When I became an adult, I put childish things behind me
I became aware of the world’s corrupt and fallen nature
Not trusting anyone, because I don’t want to be broken
I abandoned imagination for reality
Raised my vocabulary with a dictionary
Left my innocence for strength, a fortified protection
And my dreams became just that, dreams, fiction
So why do we want to grow up anyway?
I now understand Peter Pan, forever residing in Neverland
But like Wendy, I left, and have forgotten who I am
Hoping to wake up in a blur, still wondering what happened
Why do we strive for adulthood, so structured, hard, and cold?
When Christ rebuked His disciples for being exactly that, for acting too old?
He said, “Let the children come to me” “Have faith like a child”
I wonder, are we not His disciples? Are we not His children?