Living Free
A few weeks ago, I was at a craft store to pick up some supplies I needed for a project. While I was walking through the store, I saw a little girl with her family. If I had to guess, I would say she was close to two years old. She had dark, bouncy curls all over her head and was so happy to be toddling around the store.
We happened to be in the checkout line at the same time. This store has switched to a self-checkout model, and we were at two kiosks next to each other. The little girl started saying hi and waving as soon as I walked up. I smiled at her, waved, and said hi back. For the rest of the time I was completing my purchase, she was walking back and forth between the two machines, waving and saying hello. It was pretty adorable.
As I left, I was thinking about childhood.
My childhood was pretty typical for a kid growing up in the late 1900’s. It was filled with hours of bike riding, roller skating, reading, playing with my sisters, hanging out with friends, doing chores, eating dinner around the table, doing homework, going to school, staying out until dark, catching fireflies, and so much more.
One thing that was maybe less typical, was the neighbor who had a full size lion living in their backyard.
At the time, we lived on a long street, and at the end of our street was a heavily wooded area. Leading into that wooded area was a dirt mound, which made a perfect bike ramp. We would ride our bikes lightning fast down the street and then take the ramp into the woods. Once you cleared the ramp, if you went left, there was a worn in path beneath the trees that took you between the row of houses where I lived and the row of houses behind us where the lion lived.
I don’t remember how we first discovered the lion was there. I have a memory of hearing it roar and peeking through the fence to look at it, but I don’t know how much of that memory is real.
I do know the lion was real, and we definitely rode our bikes on that worn in path to catch a glimpse of him. My mom kept a newspaper clipping from November 1987, when a story was written up about the lion named Samson and his owner. The neighbors signed a petition to have the lion removed from the neighborhood, which, of course, makes sense, but also, as a kid, it just seemed so cool that someone had a lion as a pet.
We had all kinds of adventures in that wooded area. It sort of felt like our own little Narnia.
I pulled up Google Maps to look at that area now. All the trees have been cut down, and there are two signs on either side of the dirt mound reading “City Property - No Trespassing, No Dumping.” I may no longer be able to explore that space, but I’m grateful for the memories.
For me, childhood seems to have carried a bit of whimsy with it. Though it didn’t feel like whimsy at the time, it just felt like Tuesday. When I look back on it, I remember that carefree girl, wildly riding her bike through what felt like a jungle, wind whipping through her hair, laughter on her lips, hands off the handlebars and outstretched in pure joy and delight.
I realize this is not everyone’s story. Some childhoods are riddled with things that should never be a part of the narrative. If that is your story, I’m deeply sorry for what you endured. No childhood is perfect, but some are much harder than others.
God has known each of us since before we were born. God has walked with us through every season and has always delighted in us. Regardless of the stories that make up our lives, I think God wants to invite each of us toward deeper freedom in every part of our being.
What are the moments in your life when you have felt most at home in your body?
What does it feel like for your body to experience peace? Is it at peace now?
What are the moments in your life when you remember being carefree?
What might you want to ask God about your story?
What does it look like for you to live free in this season of life?
~ Melissa