Re-sized

When I was about eight years old...I don't remember exactly how old.
I was a little bit obsessed with shiny rings, made out of real stones and metals...the kind that grown ups wore.
I was the oldest of at least four...probably five...at the time, and I wanted to feel like a real grown up with real jewelry.

My wonderful, accommodating family came to my rescue.  My mom and Grandma Nancy took me to Meijer  (exactly the place for expensive jewelry) and they let me spend all of my birthday money on two shiny rings, made of real silver.

I was a proud kid!

A few weeks later, I went swimming with some friends from church.  It was a sunny day at a classic Michigan beach.  Lots of dirt--not exactly clear water.

Somewhere in that day, I lost my favorite of the two rings.

Now...to the young, eight year old version of myself, this was a tragedy.  I remember sobbing and praying my silly heart out, that God would bring my ring back to me.  I prayed with the kind of foolish faith, that thought that God cared about the things that I cared about...and that if I asked really hard, that he would answer my prayer.

He did.  I got my treasure back.

Now...I could tell you about the other two times that I lost my ring...(but that is another story).

When I first bought my ring, it was way too big for my hand.  I wore it on my middle finger, and it was still large enough to slip off.

Eventually, I grew into it...and then I grew out of it.  It lived in my dad's jewelry box for a long time.

Finally, I re-discovered it just before college and wore it on my smallest finger for a long time.  It was a reminder to me of the innocence of prayer, and of the fact that God deeply cares about me...and that sometimes he answers our prayers even if they are foolish and small.
The reminder was further emphasized by the fact that the ring that had once been too big for any of my fingers was now tight on my smallest.

A few weeks ago, Bob and I went to a jeweler to look at wedding rings.  While I was there, I decided to have my little ring sized up so that it would fit my grown up hand.

I picked it up today.  It looked beautiful, and shiny and new...and so different.
I am still trying to get used to the way it looks at feels.

 And I, being the sentimental sob that I am, miss my little ring. I have found myself surprised whenever I have seen my hand all day.

Here's the thing...I am crossing over into a part of my life where all sense of childhood is slowly stepping out of my life. Where, I am starting the painful process of budgeting, of really planning a future, of learning what it means to trust God in word without the safety nets of childhood.

It is time for me to learn what childlike faith looks like on an adult.  What does it mean for an innocent trust in God to translate over into maturity, into making wise decisions, of dying to oneself.

What does is mean to embrace maturity, without loosing innocence?

Is it possible to hold onto a childlike faith that doesn't remain small?