DEFINING MATURITY

In our housing complex, Christine and I observe numerous gradations of maturity among adults. Some understand what it means to live responsibly in community and some don't care. For the latter group, individualistic interests control personal decisions and that is immaturity. In contrast, a vacationing fourth floor apartment individualist has been at ground level for two weeks voluntarily hand watering community plants for everyone's benefit. That is maturity at its altruistic finest. I understand that in churches we mean more than biological and psychological maturity but spiritual maturity as well. Within the context of Christian development, maturity is expressed as setting aside personal rights and ambitions as Jesus did for us, and prioritizing other people in our investment of time, energy, and everything else. This strength of maturity lends itself to being a nonconformist, a rebel and a maverick for Christ. Christlike individuals, mature in their relationship with a triune God, self-effacing and compliant to the will of the Father who authorizes them to be pioneers, innovators, forerunners, pacesetters, visionaries.

Addendum: This week the occupants of two units have moved and our unanimous corporation exclamation is 'good riddance.' They didn't respect the other residents of the community and created disturbances. I am certain there have been a few churches who after seeking peace and enduring conflicts have also been happy to see some members leave. Maturity is that important. It’s not a matter of age but of choice.

I AM 70 & I MISS MY FATHER

My father died five years ago. I wasn’t thinking about Dad as I drove to the Library to work on several communications I will deliver soon. I saw a man walking. His posture, his gait, his hat and glasses instantly activated a memory of my dad. As soon as the idea occurred that it was him, I corrected myself with the comprehension that I had lost him.

I was overcome by a sense of my loss. I miss my dad so much. My brothers Murray and Neale know this loss too, but so do our wives, because he was a gentle man and sweet towards his own sweetheart and to ours as well.

A fresh rush of gratitude fills me now as I recall that this humble soft-spoken factory line worker charmed grandchildren, nieces and nephews and friends. He was a man with whom it was natural to feel safe. He was good company, expected little, asked for nothing, had a generous spirit. If he was lonely when Mom left six months sooner, he kept this private. And then, the man who was always there when I would go home, who never seemed to change, was gone.

“Today, I felt your absence once again, Dad.”