This morning, about halfway through my coffee and hanging out with Jesus time, I decided that I want to be like a backpack.
A stretchy backpack. Or maybe like that pouch from Harry Potter that Hermione carries around with her that looks tiny but actually has a tent, disguises, food, and everything but the kitchen sink in it.
I was thinking about how people are stretched, trying to visualize what that would look like. I think I know people who are made of denim. They can stretch a little to accommodate new things and experiences, but not much. And there are people who are made out of spandex, who stretch so much that everything fits. There’s not need for discrimination about what can go in or not because it all fits. It might not all belong in there though.
Then there’s where I want to be. Made out of one of those in-between fabrics, the ones that stretch enough to change shape but not without limits.
From there, I was trying to decide what kind of garment I should be. (you can see how productive my thoughts are at 8:30am) But as I contemplated my options, I realized that I would rather carry my experiences around with me than try to stuff them into my clothes. Maybe this isn’t a super cohesive analogy, but I think it work well enough.
So, a backpack it is. I’ve got a stretchy – but not too stretchy – backpack to hold the old and the new. And there’s room for more, and it will stretch. But we don’t want to throw just anything in there because some experiences leak and get all the other ones dirty. And some experiences take up far more room than they’re worth.
In this new semester, I’ll be looking for new things to put in my backpack. Let the hunt begin.