Coming of Age (Goodbye, Oh, Goodbye, My...)

(Well, I see ya standing there like a rabid dog
And you got those crying eyes…)

This is from a song – the words in parenthesis above.

And this song’s got me thinking. The whole coming of age thing. Most coming of age stories are about teenagers, etc. Some souls, however, take decades to “come of age.” It takes time to work out the rot and press coal into diamonds. Not always an easy process – especially in our “eternal youth” culture, or a culture that knows Eros and Venus with the substance and depth of a kid who knows she likes lollipops, and that’s all there is to it. But phileo? Agape? Maybe faint signals of them flash like S-O-S flickers on some obscure horizon, but in mainstream pop culture, they are harder to find than red diamonds (fun fact: red diamonds are the rarest diamonds in existence.)

(Makes me wanna surrender and wrap you in my arms
You know I try to live without regrets
I’m always moving forward and not looking back
But I tend to leave a trail of dead, while I’m moving ahead
So I’m stepping away
‘Cause I got nothing to say)

The self-devouring, others-devouring heart knows what those words above taste like, and the buyer’s regret washes over them like a shower gone cold – will I ever stop being my own worst enemy; will I ever stop leaving a proverbial trail of dead?

So I’m stepping away from those deep, stubborn roots of Self – that tenacious wolf’s mouth that wants to possess all things. It’s the greed that we all have, but no one wants to admit it; unless Humility slays us in her great hunt for believing hearts. She (Humility, Wisdom, Grace) leaves a trail of the proud in her wake.

I’m not proud. Right? Right? Uh oh. I hear a horse galloping behind me. Is that the sound of someone bending a bow and fitting it with an arrow?

(Feels like, feels like its coming
It feels like, feels like…)

God, I don’t want to stiffen my neck (with that arrogance) against You. “Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am a sinner,” as the publican prayed. May I kneel with the ancient stars in the morning (when they sink down and disappear in gold) and rise with them in the ultramarine. (To praise You in whispers and wander the night without rest.)

And when my fear pulls me out to sea
And the stars are hidden by my pride and my enemies
I seem to hurt the people that I care the most…

(Lyrics from “Coming of Age” by Foster the People)

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