When I was a little girl, I picked up an assumption that
once I reached a certain age–say thirty or so–I wouldn’t be able to change
anymore. I guess my parents seemed like fixed entities, and I figured I would
be too. Plus there was that saying I heard all the time, “You can’t teach an
old dog new tricks.”

I’m thirty three now, and I hope I was wrong.

And yet, truth be told, I’ve been a bit of an old dog for a long
time. Learning new things has never come easily to me. I remember the time in
college when Peter suggested we shoot some hoops. “Oh, no,” I said. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I can’t shoot a basketball. I’ve never done it before. I’m
too short.”

For the rest of the summer, we worked on it. I never got
very good. I never loved it. But I tried, and I was glad he pushed me.

Same thing happened about eight years ago. Peter suggested
we try a yoga class. “Oh, no,” I said. “I’ve never done it before.”

“Right,” he replied. “That’s why you go to the beginner
class. So you can learn.”

In this case, I loved it, and I’ve been a regular ever
since (see “What Yoga Has to do with Snowstorms” and “Yoga and Christianity: What’s the Deal?” for more of those thoughts).

And then there are the more substantive changes. The
softening of my heart through caring for my mother-in-law as she battled
cancer. The grief that turned to joy and a new receptivity to my fellow human
beings after Penny was born with Down syndrome. (For much more on either of those statements, go to my website.)

It’s safer to stick with what I know. Reread old books. Cook the same food. Avoid uncomfortable situations. but the messiness of learning brings with it joy. Trying a new recipe. Discovering a new favorite writer. Opening my heart so God can clean up yet another dark corner of my soul. 

I may have been born an old dog, but I want to keep learning new tricks.