Tomorrow

"Tomorrow is it, ya know? It's my first day of really working full-time. It is my first day of being capital-G, capital-U Grown Up. And that's weird. And scary," I told my mother, as I packed my cap gun, plastic recorder, kazoo, and yo-yo into a cardboard box. "What if I turn into one of those really serious adults who forgets how to play?"

So, instead of adding my marbles to the box with the rest of my goof-off materials, which are destined for a dusty spot in the back of my closet, I put them in a jar and placed them on my dresser. That way, when I wake up tomorrow morning, before I leave for my first day of work, I'll see them and remember that, while I do serious service all day, I still know how to play. And tomorrow I'll put a bottle of bubbles in my car. Because you never know when you'll be stuck in traffic and need a little floating pick-me-up to share with your comrades-in-vehicles.

While tomorrow is in some ways an official turning point, I have a feeling it'll be a lot like today. I'll wake up, pack paper and pens and a lunch, and drive away. I'll go out into the world, and spend the day loving, serving, learning, talking, praying, and working. At the end of the day I'll come home, play and talk with the people I love, and sleep.