I from time to time think of the two words, “growing pains.” Growth is hard, no doubt about it. The striving, the energy, the breakthrough…growth usually means something has to give, to make room.
Sometimes the remnants of the old–of what we’ve outgrown–hold on for dear life. They are reluctant to be tossed aside and do everything in their power to make sure you know they’re sticking around. Those remnants hurt when they were torn and shredded to make room for the new, and they have their heart set on revenge.
I find it a bittersweet moment when I respond to a situation out of the “grown” me. There is elation at the improvement, delight in flexing the longer and stronger muscles. And then a twinge of pain. The old self’s remnant whispers poison, a black vapor that swirls over my head. It tries to distract me and make me think I am still a part of the old body, that I am it and must behave accordingly. But it is the other way around. The old body is but a fraction of who I am–an emaciated leech and nothing more. A healthy salting of the Word is all it takes to remove the offense.
And that is part of growth, too: the ability to see that what we left behind should stay behind.