Becoming Something

A birthday reflection on the transformed life.

“Every time you make a choice, you are turning the central part of you, the part of you that chooses, into something a little different than it was before. And taking your life as a whole, with all your innumerable choices, all your life long you are slowly turning this central thing into a heavenly creature or a hellish creature: either into a creature that is in harmony with God, and with other creatures, and with itself, or else into one that is in a state of war and hatred with God, and with its fellow creatures, and with itself. To be the one kind of creature is heaven: that is, it is joy and peace and knowledge and power. To be the other means madness, horror, idiocy, rage, impotence, and eternal loneliness. Each of us at each moment is progressing to the one state of the other.”

- C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

I turn 25 today and find myself reflecting on where I am and where I am going. The past year has been a hectic one! I’ve worked 4 different jobs, traveled across the country, watched my friends get married, made new friends, started new hobbies, picked up the gym, and read a lot of books. I’ve seen the way my choices have affected my relationship with God, family, and myself. If life is a series of “innumerable choices”, then every one of these choices is a part of my story. Every choice is turning me, as C.S. Lewis said, into something “heavenly” or “hellish.” These words are metaphors, obviously, for the condition of the heart. And the “heart,” of course, is a metaphor for the whole self. Lewis is in essence asking, “Your whole self, what is he becoming?”

I am becoming something. It is worthwhile to ponder what this means.

There is something odd about looking back at all the years of your life. It’s like watching several movies play out, yourself the main character, but you can’t rewind. You can’t change the decisions already made. This character, indeed, makes dozens and dozens of choices. Some you watch upon proudly, others you don’t. In one film, you even see him become something regretful. You know how he feels in these moments, almost as if the emotion is pouring itself out from the screen. Sometimes, the film plays something particularly upsetting. You see him there, dejected. You think, why did you do that? You want to turn off the movie, and are certainly free to do so. But you also want to be honest. Some scenes play themselves over and over again. And you have to confront them to get to the next act.

It’s important to replay the movie sometimes, not to introspect for its own sake (many indeed go mad playing this game). Deeply contemplating the past is an important practice because you want to understand. As you visualize, you see a roadmap of all the places traveled. Look closely enough, and the images will tell you something. There is truth to be found. What you find you may not like. Perhaps you will even discover a need to confront the dark and ugly things in your heart. Horrified, you may realize the world around you looks the same now as it did then.

I am becoming something.

Becoming what? It can be hard to know sometimes. But if you lower your defenses, this question will confront you with a reality that cannot be ignored forever, despite every wish to the contrary.

It’s in those moments of reflection where nostalgia bites the worst. Your childhood reminds you of a world that feels more real and true, in many ways, than the one now. There was an innocence in being ignorant—you can receive the whole world and what it brings. That is, of course, until the world shatters this juvenile trust. But perhaps that is part of what Jesus meant when he said we must “become like children”? Can the kingdom of heaven receive cold and stony hearts? Hellish creatures?

Christians are called to be “transformed by the renewing of your minds.” To be made into a New Creation feels arduous and slow, painful, and at times, deeply troubling. But there is also joy, goodness, love, and beauty along the way. The “new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17) Harder, though, is learning how to become ‘new’. It is easy to close yourself off from your own sin, and especially your own suffering. It’s safer. But what if that’s not what we are meant to do? What if, to receive and participate in the fullness of what life is (now and to come), our hearts must change?

Thankfully, the process of becoming is not our own work. All our works crumble before the feet of Jesus, who speaks to every vain striver, “You are my ‘beloved.’” (Romans 9:25) When I truly hear those words, the idea of becoming—what has felt so daunting for so long—suddenly feels lighter.

He makes the process worth every moment.

I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the
pearl of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realise now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying

on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.

The Bright Field, R.S. Thomas