On the first day of kindergarten my five year-old son insisted I take him to his class and then stay with him for a while. The other day, half way through grade one, my son left me standing on the sidewalk as he jetted off to meet his friends in the playground.

It used to be that at bedtime I’d read him every word from every story he picked. Lately I’ve been reading some, but he’s started reading to me.

And when he was younger he would absolutely freak out if water splashed in his face in the shower. Last night he washed his own hair and stood face-up in the shower’s full stream.

My son is growing up.

Once upon a time I thought that conversion consisted of a short prayer asking Jesus into my heart thus granting me entry into heaven when I die. Now, however, I think that conversion is a lifelong process of transformation, a journey with Jesus as his Holy Spirit shapes and breaks me into the man God designed me to be. Sure, the process began by saying yes to the way of Jesus for my life, but that was only the beginning.

It used to be that I thought going to church on Sunday meant I was free to indulge my selfish desires the rest of the week. But I’ve been learning that going to church was never the point in the first place; being the church is, and being the church moves me—at glacial speed—toward what’s best for others instead of myself.

I’m growing up. Slowly.

What about you?