"Life" Begins

Where The Sidewalk Ends

“There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins
And there the grass grows soft and white
And the sun burns crimson bright
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.”

-Shel Silverstein

This is a poem that comes from a book that I read often as a child in grade school. In fact I don’t think there is a person my age who would not remember Shel Silverstein’s “Where The Sidewalk Ends”, and the vivid poems that stretched our imaginations. I mention this now because each day I am stepping further away from this carefree and creative childhood to fall into this new role of “adult”.

Forgotten Language

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?

-Shel Silverstein

I’m noticing changes in how I think, how I used to look at the world, at my faith. I’m fascinated by the path God has taken me on, from being a kindergartener praying for a sick friend every night before bed, to sitting in team meetings strategizing and casting vision for the most effective and biblical way to begin a new church. Though the process to get from kindergarten to Peru has taken 18 years, there are moments when I still feel like a kindergartener trying to convince everyone that I’m a “big girl”. This is fascinating to me because I don’t remember when I made that switch from simply loving Jesus and desiring to know the Bible well, to being passionate about His church and seeking not just the meaning of scripture but the authorial intent. How have I gone from practicing multiplication tables, to writing analysis of the importance of hermeneutics? Crazy, yet natural, this processes of progression. And it continues on I daresay, continues and continues until, one day . . .

The Little Boy and the Old Man

Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”
Said the old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too,” laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
“But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean” said the little old man.

-Shel Silverstein