Can't See the Changes

There is a plant in my office and it has grown so much. It's a viney leafy thing way up high on a bookshelf and it's touching the floor. I know it was never that long when I first got it, but I've never seen it grow.

I never see anything that grows, grow.

I never see the grass in the front yard even budge, but somehow it needs mowing. I never see my fingernails grow, but they need trimming; My hair needs cutting. My stomach has also grown but I've never seen it happening. I've never woken up each morning looking at it in the mirror trying to decide if it's that much bigger, but I always wake up and look at it and try to decide if it's that much smaller.

I think I'm not going to see it shrink.

I don't ever see things shrink. I've never seen it coming for my pillow, but there are hardly any feathers left. The tread on my tires is all but worn away. The snow in the front yard somehow disappeared and the daffodils are springing up, and somehow I am whiteness to all of this but have never watched any of it happen.

There is no watching the body change. I have to just blindly trust it's happening until that every-once-in-a-while moment when, maybe I accidentally catch my reflection, a new muscle miraculously pops up or the stomach is all of a sudden so much flatter than before.

Trust with everything that change will happen to your body whether you will it into being or not. Change is out of your control. We will always see change happen, we just don't get to watch while it's happening.