you weren't there, you never were

I was amazed to rediscover the joy of silliness. I didn't realize I'd lost it.

As we walked through weeds and branches down a small path, he turned circles, ran up and down hills, picked weeds to give as flowers, and made small children laugh with his antics. He lifted his arms high above his head and danced, the sunlight warming his face against the crisp air. We all watched, big smiles creeping across our faces, laughter escaping our lips.

Later, as we watched cowboys being bucked off ferocious bulls, I joined in awkward dances, drummed the air, and waved my hair around like an 80s rocker. Laughter and tears of happiness filled my eyes. And as we walked home, trying to block the cold from our bodies, giggled and laughed until hoarse.

I realized that if I was with many of my seminary friends, this type of behavior might be looked down upon as childish and immature. I would probably even join in with this judgmental outlook. Am I losing my ability to be silly as I "grow up"? I'm not sure. And I hope not. But these thoughts are rattling through my mind.