peace . love . joy

It's a strange feeling coming home.

Six months don't seem like a long time. One minute races into the next, the numbers on the clock relentlessly rotate and progress, days slip and slyly skulk by, the pages on the calendar torn off one by one at an alarming rate.

Maybe it's not the time.. But the person.
Maybe it's the person that adapts and changes that makes time stretch, as though who they were before had long gone, not even the shadow of the former self lingers. And there, a stranger stands.

For the first time in a long time,
I come home to a family of six, live in such close proximity with them such that it's impossible to pass a single day without speaking to each one of them at least once.
I share a bed with someone, a bedroom with three others, a study with five more.
Someone shops for groceries instead of me, decides on what to cook instead of me.
Someone yells at me to come eat, tells me to go to bed, wakes me in the morning.
Someone instructs me on how to sit at the table, where to eat, what (not) to wear.
I have a curfew again.

Living alone away from home, moving back home to a family..
I guess there are both good and not-so-welcomed sides of each.

One of the things that I'm trying to get back in step with is controlled freedom.
Trust me, it's not that easy a shift to progress from a rather strict control of freedom (dressing, drinking, curfews, etc.) to absolute total freedom, and then straight back to the way things were before. Eyes are opened, ears are unclogged, skin is thickened, spirits have soared to new territories.. and somewhat enjoyed the new experiences, new indenpendence, new freedom.

Maybe it's part of growing up, I don't know.

My "growing up", my taste of "adult life" came like a bullet train. Once I stepped off the platform of safety, let go of my parents' hands, and onto the carriage, the ties that bound me to the familiar world of protection and, to some degree, dictation were abruptly severed, and I was left to either survive or live.. on my own. But as quick as it came, as quick it made its rounds and docked back at that old familiar station, and I alighted.

But while it is tempting to demand our parents step back and let go, thinking we've all grown up (maybe we have, maybe we haven't), perhaps we've even "prooved" that we can do it, wanting, desiring to taste yet again the juicy grapes and sweet wines of independence, of freedom, to push boundaries, or better yet, demolish them entirely,
I pray you stop and consider:

'Regard (treat with honor, due obedience, and courtesy) your father and mother, that your days may be long in the land the Lord your God gives you.'
~ Exodus 20:12

Sure, you're growing up, perhaps thinking it is in some respects a step already towards it, and you'd want "some space". Try talking to your parents, all the while exercising self-control and patience, sit them down over scones and tea, and hold a good solid conversation, not one of those flimsy uncertain flippant remarks, but one that aims at conscious (for all parties) negotiation.

They might let up or even relinquish control over some things.

But what if they adamantly and vehemently refuse?

What then will you do?

'Children, obey your parents in everything, for this is pleasing to the Lord'
~ Colossians 3:20