The last day...

...Not of the world, not of the year, not even of the week.

But it's my last day to be 17.

I've really loved being seventeen. Sixteen wasn't a good year for me; I made some stupid decisions and was a long time regaining emotional and spiritual ground lost in one summer. But God made it a ploughing year, and seventeen has been all the better for it, I think.

When I was ten, or twelve, or even fourteen, I truly believed that by the time I reached eighteen, (EIGHTEEN! It's ancient!) I'd have lots of things under control. My control. I'd only speak kind words, I'd love my family with my actions as well as my heart, I'd know exactly where I wanted to go in life... down to the last mile.

Well, all I can honestly say is that I was a silly child, because the only thing I can really rely on as far as self goes is that I can't do a single thing right. Nope, nary a thing. My tongue is just as sarcastic as ever, my good intentions are as weak as ever they were.

Depressing, isn't it? When we realize that what we can certainly count on as far as self goes is sin, sin, and more sin, it may come as a real shock. It shocked, (and greatly disappointed,) me. When I was little, I fully believed that merely growing up would give me the tools I needed to be a good person, to love others, to sacrifice my own wishes. You know, like the girls in the books.

But, no. No, not at all.

The older I get, it seems that sin gets subtler and harder to beat, in a way. An angelic nature hasn't dropped gently out of the clouds and enveloped me any time recently.

In a way, I'm a bit bummed. I mean, after all, those girls in the books made it look so darn easy.

But at the core of it all, I don't want to rely on self... even if relying on self could produce some outwardly good results. Self can be a deceptive little devil, and you can fool everyone with the polished outside.

The inside, the heart, is a different matter. Christ is all my hope for overcoming my weaknesses and failures, and He is faithful. He does give strength; He does bless my efforts and give me a desire to please Him. That is ten thousand times ten thousand better than looking to growing up for happiness and goodness.

So, eighteen isn't the magical age I once dreamed of. And I'm kinda sad about leaving seventeen forever. ::sniff::

I've found that the bottom line is no matter what age I am, no matter what the year before me holds, Christ is sufficient. He is good.

And I'm excited about growing up. I really am. I think I'm a bit like Wendy, who

"...was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than the other girls."