Now and again--too rarely!--the sky is bright, the air is fresh, the stars are in their proper configurations, and I actually get a Significant Chunk of housework done. The other day was one of those glory days, occasion for one of the Great Canadian Spring Ceremonies: the putting away of winter gear. I got boots sorted and paired; the hat, scarf, glove and mitt collection has been reviewed and purged; and coats and snowpants washed, dried, and hung away. I even (ta-da!) remembered to check the pockets before bundling the coats into the washing machine, yielding empty Skittles packages, several Micro Machines, masses of hardened kleenex, and a perfectly good $5 bill.

My younger kid has hit his first big pre-pubertal growth spurt --the very beginning of the long, slow curve into adulthood. So one pile was for hand-me-downs or throw-me-aways--stuff John had outgrown, or that was no longer fit for use..

One jacket in particular gave me pause. The kid wore it for three winters, and it was one I always liked. To me, it's still John's winter jacket, even if last time he tried it on, his wrists were two inches out the cuffs and the waist was at the bottom of his rib cage. Now it needs mending--lots of mending. I don't know if I can fix it or not. Even if I can fix it, I don't want to get rid of it; I want it to go on being John's winter jacket, just as a part of me wants John to go on being the kid it used to fit.

Some of John is forever--his immortal soul. Some of John goes back a long, long way; the genetic sequence of the DNA in his personal mitochondria probably goes back a million years or so. Some of John is less permanent; his bones, for example, are being continually remodelled as he grows, and the process of breaking down and rebuilding bone will continue all his life. Some of John is very temporary indeed, like the bits of hair and skin a person shed continually. And other things I associate with John are not of John at all, like this jacket. It reminds me of John, but really, it's only a thing of fabric and snaps and plastic zippers.

Growing is a matter of letting go of one thing and reaching for the next. If John is to grow, my duty as a parent is to release my loving hold on him as a child, just as I had to let go of the baby he used to be. One's soul-making is like any other form of growth: there are going to be some things, part of our being, that we carry with us from cradle to grave and beyond, and some things that are like bones that we do change, but slowly and cautiously, and only after much hard work and thought; and still other things that are really pretty dispensable, like clothing that we outgrow and hand on to someone else, or simply discard.

A large part of the growth process is the willingness to look very hard at each part of faith, each bit of received wisdom or tradition, whatever it is--to examine it critically and honestly. Sometimes that means changing an attitude, or a custom, or a discipline, or a way of expressing faith, or a theological position. Sometimes that means looking at a part of faith and saying, yes, this I really do believe; here I stand. Belief is all the better for being stretched and prodded and asked searching questions. And faith is far better mixed with a measure of humility and uncertainty; our Lord did not say, "Blessed are they who have all the answers."

I have been called to make choices and decisions in my soul-making, and sometimes they involved giving up something precious, and sometimes they involved taking on something I didn't want. I never knew at the time whether I was following God's call or just being stupid and self-willed. That only became clear later on. I never knew whether I was throwing away something inestimably valuable, or properly clearing out the cupboards. I never knew whether I was hanging on to a pearl beyond price or worshipping a piece of junk jewellery.

The only thing I can be sure of is that growth is difficult; and therefore to take the course that is personally difficult is probably a better choice than to take the easier course. For some, the harder course may be hanging in there; for others, the harder choice may be letting go. Always, the hardest course is the one that involves actually THINKING instead of reflexively reacting, or jumping to a foregone conclusion.

One other thing I know: no two souls are alike, just as no two children are alike. There are overall similarities, and obvious malaises and ills and fractures, but on the whole, I can't tell you how to make up your soul; that's really between you and God. And therefore it should be difficult to judge the progress of any other's soul, unless you're a proper trained expert in the business--and the best experts aren't particularly interested in judgment, but in process and glorious diversity.

But whatever our choices, they must be for life, not death. Maybe sometimes that means stepping out into what seems like empty space; maybe it means letting go of something treasured; maybe it means hanging in through a difficult time or standing fast in something you're sure is right--but always with the knowledge that you may be less right than you think you are, and that those who disagree with you are also God's children and well worth listening to.

What matters above all, however, is the desire behind the choice. As Thomas Merton wrote, "I believe the desire to please God does indeed please God." And that, I hope, I do have.

I still haven't done anything about the jacket. It's hanging over the upstairs bannister, catching my eye several times a day. I will let go of it when God and I are ready to do that together. Soon, but not quite yet....