Growth is measured in so many ways.
A ruler
or scale,
the tick-tock of a clock.
Counted footsteps, carefully walked
toe to heel
to toe
across the sand.
An inch on a map =
five hundred miles on land.
Pencil marks on grandma’s wall--
feet flat, shoulders back
stand up straight.
Every year
a bit higher
never scrubbed away,
a smudged reminder of where we’ve been.
Growth is measured in
numbers
letters
grades (plus! minus!) shoved in pockets of backpacks.
Hours spent in front rows on church pews.
Pounds gained
inches lost
trophies, ribbons, medals
hung around necks, displayed proudly on our walls--
nails bending, necks heavy with the weight of our own accomplishment.
But
what about the growth we cannot measure?
The most important growth.
What if there isn’t a
formula
or calculation
or trophy case of the soul?
What if no one is keeping track?
How do we know
that we
have grown?
How much dirt did we wash off our hands at the end of the day?
How many hours did we go without shoes--
the earth soft and warm beneath our feet,
slowly
growing
our roots.
How many mornings did we wake with the birds,
dress ourself in morning sun
and sit in the silence of
what seems to be nothing
but really,
might be
everything?
Have we shared kind words today?
Have we planted
a seed,
a thought? Have we taught?
Have we questioned,
then learned something new?
Have we slowed down? Have we laughed?
Have we felt
the awe
of the simple
and mundane?
Have we looked at the overlooked?
Have we rested,
and then opened our eyes,
felt something new
deep
in our SELF?
An unfamiliar space
for light to shine.
We don’t have the tool to measure
these things.
A ruler won’t reach,
a scale isn’t big enough.
But try
not to worry…
Feet flat,
shoulders back,
I think--
I KNOW
we are growing.
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