Late Bloomer.  Growing up is hard enough as it is, and being a late bloomer only makes it worse.  Time seems to span an eternity, especially during those formidable years of adolescence.  When I was small, I always wanted to fast forward time.  It's silly, but watching enough "Out of This World" will get you thinking that you can fiddle with time (you go, Evie Garland!).

I'm one of those late bloomers.  My kindergarten teacher wrote on my report card that I was immature.  I was the last person in my 2nd grade class to learn to write cursive.  I got my first pair of Keds after all the other girls were on their 2nd or 3rd pair.  I was among the last to learn how to do a lay-up on my 5th grade basketball team.  And I'm not going to even mention high school.

Recently I find myself being strangely confronted with the past.  Old acquaintainces have reappeared on my daily commutes, and I'm left to grapple the question of so-who-are-you-today?  This in turn has provided a fresh understanding of my Potter's hand, for everything is made beautiful in His time. 

I watched my high schoolers tonight with particular interest because they all moved up a rank in the all important pecking order with the start of the school year.  Sophomores boast a subtle maturity that was absent their freshman year.  Juniors exude a confidence they once lacked, and seniors step up to their new role of being on top.  And graduated seniors (now college freshmen) regain the humility of learning things anew.   

I'm a stranger to those teenage years.  But the benefit of being at the quarter of a century mark is that it allows enough years to see the steadfast, consistent work of the Potter.  And He is far from finished.