People say some strange, amazing things. It's weird to me, but much of the wisdom I've been offered has made absolutely no sense to me until much later, after I reached a certain age, experienced certain things, or just sort of grew up (at least for a time). For instance: I remember reading "The Road Less Traveled" when I was a Junior in college in Oklahoma and being completely blown away by this short, overly-quoted poem. I was actually kind of embarrassed that it suddenly meant so much to me because it was everywhere--I had read it before, and everyone else had, too. Coming to
feel the poem in such a way seemed silly to me, especially when I tried to express its perfection to my friend, Nicole. I felt like I was rambling on and on about how much stuff Wal-Mart stocked, or something.
Still, that poem is amazing, which is why everyone has already read it. What is still baffling, though, is why I didn't "get it" the first time I encountered it. Was I not ready at 19 to feel that poem? Was I distracted? Probably all of the above. All I know for certain is this poem, which had seemed trite to me, I guess, suddenly felt unspeakably powerful, and the poem had not changed; I had.
Achtung Baby by U2 is my all-time favorite album. I ignore it for years at a time, but each time I play it again my old friend works, running me through the same whole-spectrum-of-feelings as it did in 1992. But, what I don't usually share when I speak of this album is that, though I wanted badly to love it upon my very first hearing, I was initially disappointing with it. After loving
The Joshua Tree so fully, this new album felt harsh and even overly contrived, like the boys were pretending to be Eastern European or something. After having the album for six months, I heard a bit of it in Leigh Ann Tucker's Honda Accord and was floored to know that what I was hearing was the same album from six months back! And just like Frost's poem, the album had not changed. My expectations of U2 and my own feelings about myself did change, though, and allowed me to be open to the truth of the album.
Again and again in my life I find that the difference between experiencing the truth of something and missing the richness of it is often just time. It is true in my marriage; Thanks be to God, Stacy and I are in a place together that I literally could not imagine two years ago. She has changed, I have changed, and what I thought about her and about who she is inside is changed. The same is true in my faith--I doubt God has changed much, but I certainly have.
We ebb and flow. Time does, too. The wisest thing I think of (which may sound trite to you, today!) is that we are supposed to be in this present moment as fully as possible, so we can enjoy the peace and understanding while it is here. Because it will all keep washing in and out, we must try and try again to "get it" when we're ready.
