Because I Can… the random thoughts of Marc Scott

I don’t have children, though, I’ve had limited experience with them.  Mostly, it’s been through the fire department.  At my old station, I used to love doing fire prevention events with the kids.  It reminded me of what I was like when I was a kid, always wanting to be on the fire truck or wearing the equipment.

During these various functions I learned that for kids, there are no answers, there are only questions.  “What’s this?” “It’s a fire hose.”  “What does it do?”  “It sprays the water.”  “Where does the water come from?”  “It comes from the fire truck.”  “How does it come from the fire truck?”

No matter the number of answers you would give, a child always seems to have an uncanny ability to find, yet another question!  They just don’t seem to be content with an answer.  They always need, and want, to know more.

I find myself at an interesting point in my life.  At 30, I have acheived both personal and professional dreams, and, sadly, I’ve seen them both fade away.  Often, I have to stop and remind myself that I am only 30 and it’s OK.  I sometimes forget that I started my career at 17.  Having not achieved everything by 30 doesn’t mean I’m a failure, as many people are only getting started at 30.  It comes as little consolation to me at times, but I remind myself of it nevertheless.

I haven’t blogged much this week, perhaps you’ve noticed.  I hadn’t hardly missed a day since I started this back in January, but this week I’ve definitely been slacking.  The reason for that is because I’ve been spending a lot of time looking for answers.

I don’t mean to sound like I’m at some major crossroads, though, I’m not ruling that out.  I would like to believe that I am still too young to be experiencing a mid-life crisis, though, I’d certainly see a sports car as a solution to at least one or two of my problems.  But I’ve definitely been taking some time to look for answers.

The harder I looked for answers this week, the more I kept remembering those fire prevention experiences.  I’d get an image in my mind of a child, standing tip-toed to cross the three foot mark.  He was standing in my bunker pants, my boots nearly as long as his legs.  The bright red suspenders are pulled up over his shoulders, though even they can’t keep the pants hiked up on his tiny little frame.  He throws my coat on and can’t even get his hands to come out the ends of the sleeves.  When he places my helmet on his head, it swallows him.  Somewhere, inside the yellow dome is the face of a child.  He attempts to walk, but with each step the weight of the gear nearly sends him toppling to the ground.  He pays it no mind.  He’s a firefighter, if only in make believe.  As he tries to wade around the sea of grass and snaking lines of fire hose, he asks questions.  With each answer comes a new question.  There is no end until time dictates that we pack the trucks and head for home.

This week one question has come into my head more than any other.  Are there answers?  That’s what I’ve been reflecting on, tossing it back and forth in my mind over and over.  Is life about answers, or is it just about a journey filled with questions?  Are we on a quest to a destination of absolute?  Or are we moving through a sea of questions, the complexity of which are like the waves.  Some bigger.  Some stronger.  Some smaller.  Some easier.

A child is seldom content to rest when an aswer has been offered.  They keep pressing, searching, wondering.  Could this be what Jesus was referring to when he spoke of child-like faith?  Perhaps the point is not to find or know the answers.  Maybe I’m supposed to just have faith in the journey, with each question being another dot on my map.