For all the Athenians and strangers which were there spent their time in nothing else, but either to tell, or to hear some new thing.
–Acts 17:21
There is something beguiling about newness. The crispness of a new dollar bill, the smell of new clothes, the unfurling of a new leaf, the morning of a new day. It breathes of freshness, creativity. It invigorates, offers hope, stretches before us with untouched possibility.
What’s new? we ask each other, a question laced with implications of growth, progress, change.
Newness. It’s a color, a scent, a shimmer.
It’s easy to get hooked.
I listen for the crack when opening a book for the first time, smile at the perfection (and smell!) of new crayons, marvel at the softness of newborn baby skin. I love being the first to open the seal on a jar of peanut butter.
Electronic newness has also cast its spell. News articles, blogs, email, updates. Friends, strangers–a clamor of importance. I walk away dizzy, drenched, both sated and hungry.
It’s an elusive, fickle master, this desire for some new thing. In all my efforts to feed the divine drive, it’s easy for me to confuse newness with renewal.
Tell me how you find renewal amidst all of the newness. And whether you think the drive for some new thing really is divine.
p.s. I love old things too, but that’s a post for another day.
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