Epilogue

When I finished writing the final chapter of this series, I thought I was done with the whole thing.

After all, we had traveled a long way together, and by the time we reached the end of Becoming Love, the journey felt complete.

And in many ways, it was.

After finishing this work, though, I found myself thinking about something I had not addressed directly.

Change.

Not because the series was ultimately about change, but because change is often what happens when we honestly engage new ideas, experiences, and perspectives.

Some may have found themselves nodding along as they read. Others may have felt challenged, stretched, encouraged, confused, excited, uncomfortable, or perhaps all of those things at times.

If that is true for you, I want you to know that you are not alone. Growth can feel that way for everyone.

When long-held assumptions begin to shift, it can feel as though something important is happening beneath the surface. Questions emerge. Certainties become less certain. New possibilities appear. Sometimes this feels exciting. Sometimes it feels unsettling. Often it feels like both.

For many people, the most difficult part of growth is not the new ideas themselves. The most difficult part is wondering what those ideas mean about us. We may fear disappointing people we love. We may worry about leaving familiar territory. We may even wonder whether changing our minds means betraying our faith.

This short epilogue is for those moments.

It is not an attempt to convince anyone of anything. Nor is it an argument for a particular theological position. Rather, it is a reflection on the nature of growth itself and an invitation to consider that change may not be something to fear.

Because growth is not a sign that something has gone wrong, but one of the ways life, love, and even faith continue to unfold.

THE STREET OF GROWTH

When I was a young child, I was taught that the street was dangerous.

“Stay out of the road,” the adults would say. “It’s not safe.”

And they were right.

At that stage in my life, those lessons were important. The street was dangerous for a small child who was not yet capable of understanding traffic, speed, or the risks involved. Those warnings kept me safe.

A few years later, however, the lessons began to change.

I learned about crosswalks, traffic lights, and stop signs. Eventually, I was able to cross the street on my own, and then later allowed to ride my bike to a friend’s house. The very street I had once been taught to avoid, over time, became a pathway that connected me to new experiences, new friendships, and a growing sense of freedom.

Today, those same streets that were once so scary take me to visit family and friends, places of beauty and adventure, and opportunities that I could never have imagined as a child.

The street never stopped being something that required wisdom and caution. Cars are still cars. Risks still exist. Yet my relationship with the street changed as I grew.

What would be unusual is if I never changed along with it.

Imagine a 60-year-old man standing on the sidewalk, terrified to step into the street because he is still holding on to the understanding he had as a small child. We would immediately recognize that something had gone wrong. Not because the original lesson was bad, but because it was never meant to be the final lesson.

The purpose of the lesson was not merely to protect me. It was to prepare me.

The goal was never to keep me on the sidewalk forever. The goal was to help me eventually navigate the world with greater wisdom, confidence, and freedom.

I think many aspects of life work this way. As children, we understand things differently than we do as adults. As beginners, we understand things differently than we do after years of experience. As our lives expand, our understanding expands as well.

The earlier stages were not failures, but part of the journey. In fact, each stage made the next stage possible.

Without the early lessons about safety, I could not have experienced the freedom that came later.

Growth did not require me to reject the earlier lessons. It required me to build upon them.

Our spiritual lives work in much the same way.

The beliefs, practices, and understandings that helped us in one season of life may not be the same beliefs, practices, and understandings that sustain us in another. What once felt sufficient may eventually feel incomplete. New experiences may invite us to ask new questions. New questions may lead us toward deeper understandings.

This does not necessarily mean that what came before was wrong. It may simply mean that the journey is continuing.

Perhaps faith, like life itself, is not about standing still. Perhaps it is about learning to trust the road enough to keep moving forward. After all, the street was never the destination.

EVERYTHING CHANGES

The truth is, the story of the streets is not really about streets at all. It’s about growth.

It is about the reality that life itself is constantly moving, developing, and changing. Whether we notice it or not, change is woven into the fabric of existence. In many ways, change is not the exception to life.

It is life.

Everything around us changes. The seasons change. Children grow into adults. Relationships deepen, struggle, heal, and evolve. New experiences shape us. Knowledge expands. Technology advances. Entire cultures transform over time. Even our own bodies, as we well know, are continually changing.

The natural world tells the same story. Stars are born and die. Forests grow and regenerate. Rivers carve new paths through landscapes. The universe itself is still expanding. Everywhere we look, life is moving, adapting, and becoming.

We are no different. The person you are today is not the same person you were even one year ago. You have learned new things. Forgotten things. Experienced joy and heartbreak. Formed new relationships. Lost others. Changed your mind. Developed new perspectives. Gained wisdom in some areas and discovered how much you still have to learn in others.

Even when we believe we are standing still, life continues to shape us. This is important because many of us think of change as something unusual that happens only during major life transitions: switching careers, beginning a relationship, experiencing a loss, or encountering a new idea. Yet change is not something that occasionally visits our lives. It is something we are continually participating in.

The question is not whether we are changing. The question is how. Every experience, every relationship, every book we read, every community we participate in, every story we tell ourselves, and every idea we embrace is shaping us in some way. As we discussed in the previous chapter, we are always being formed by something.

This includes our spiritual lives as well.

Many of us were taught to think of faith as something fixed and unchanging. Yet when we look honestly at our own lives, most of us can recognize that our understanding of God has changed over time. The God we imagined as children is not the same God we understand as adults. Our experiences, questions, relationships, struggles, and discoveries all contribute to a faith that continues to develop throughout our lives.

This does not mean that God is changing. It means that we are.

As we grow, mature, heal, and encounter new experiences, our understanding of God grows as well. This is true of every meaningful relationship. When two people first meet, they know very little about one another. Over time, as trust develops and experiences are shared, the relationship deepens. New aspects of each person’s character are revealed. Understanding expands. The relationship becomes richer, more nuanced, and more mature.

Why should our relationship with God be any different?

Perhaps spiritual growth is not about arriving at a final, unchanging understanding of God. Perhaps it is about continually growing in our capacity to encounter, trust, and participate in the love that has been drawing us forward all along.

If change is woven into every part of life, then perhaps the goal is not to avoid change. Perhaps the goal is to learn how to move through it with wisdom, humility, courage, and trust.

WHY CHANGE FEELS DIFFICULT

If change is such a natural part of life, why do so many of us find it difficult?

Part of the answer lies within the way we are wired.

Modern neuroscience suggests that our brains are constantly working to help us navigate the world safely. One of the ways they do this is by creating mental models, habits, and expectations that allow us to predict what comes next. Familiar patterns help us feel secure because they reduce uncertainty and make the world feel more manageable.

The challenge is that growth often requires us to move beyond what is familiar.

With new experiences, ideas, information, or perspectives challenging our existing understanding, our brains may interpret that uncertainty as a potential threat. We can feel anxious, defensive, confused, or even fearful. Sometimes we experience these reactions physically before we fully understand what is happening intellectually. Our nervous systems begin sounding an alarm, telling us that something important is changing.

Throughout this series, we have explored how fear and anxiety influence the way we think, feel, and act. We have seen how anxiety often seeks relief through certainty, control, scapegoating, and the creation of clear insiders and outsiders. These responses are understandable because they temporarily reduce discomfort. They help us feel safe.

Yet what helps us feel safe is not always what helps us grow.

Many of us have experienced this in other areas of life. Learning to drive a car can feel frightening at first. Starting a new job can be overwhelming. Entering a new relationship requires vulnerability. Becoming a parent changes everything. Nearly every meaningful stage of growth involves a season of uncertainty.

The same is true in our spiritual lives.

When our understanding of God, faith, scripture, ourselves, or the world begins to expand, it can feel troubling. Questions that once seemed settled may reappear. Ideas we once held with certainty may no longer fit as comfortably as they once did. New possibilities may emerge that challenge old assumptions.

For some people, this can create a deep sense of anxiety. We may worry that we are betraying God. We may fear disappointing religious leaders, family members, or communities that have shaped us. We may wonder whether asking questions is itself a sign of unfaithfulness.

These fears are understandable because our beliefs are rarely just beliefs. They are often connected to our identity, our relationships, our sense of belonging, and our understanding of the world itself. When those things begin to shift, it can feel as though the ground beneath our feet is moving.

Growth rarely feels comfortable while it is happening, and so discomfort alone is not a reliable indicator that something is wrong.

Sometimes discomfort is simply the feeling of old understandings giving way to new possibilities.

If you find yourself wrestling with questions, uncertainty, or change, perhaps the invitation is not to judge yourself for it, nor to rush toward easy answers. Perhaps the invitation is simply to remain curious, honest, and open to where the journey may lead.

After all, if God is truly present with us, then we need not fear growth. The One who has been with us in every previous stage of the journey will be with us in all of the coming ones as well.

GROWTH IS NOT BETRAYAL

For some readers, this may be the most important section in this final chapter.

If the ideas explored throughout this series have felt encouraging, inspiring, or life-giving, you may have read through them with ease. But if some of the ideas have felt unfamiliar, challenging, or unsettling, you may have experienced something else.

Fear.

Not necessarily fear of the ideas themselves, but fear of what it might mean to take them seriously.

Questions may have begun to surface. What if I see things differently than I used to? What if my understanding is changing? What if people I respect disagree? What if my church, my family, and my community would not understand? What if I am wrong?

And perhaps beneath all of those questions lies an even deeper one: What if changing my mind means betraying God?

If you have felt any of those things, you are not alone. Many people have been taught, either directly or indirectly, that faithfulness means certainty. We learn to associate spiritual maturity with having the right answers, holding the correct beliefs, and avoiding doubt. As a result, when questions arise or long-held assumptions begin to shift, it can feel as though faith itself is being threatened.

Yet when we look at scripture, we find something very different. The people who encounter God are changed by that encounter.

Abraham leaves behind the world he has always known and steps into an uncertain future. Moses repeatedly discovers that God is larger and more compassionate than he imagined. Jonah learns that God’s mercy extends even to people he would rather exclude. Peter’s understanding of who belongs within God’s family expands dramatically. Paul undergoes a complete transformation of perspective after encountering Christ.

The pattern appears again and again throughout the biblical story. People encounter God. Their understanding changes. Their lives change. And the journey continues.

Growth is not presented as a failure of faith, but as a fruit of faith.

In many ways, the disciples themselves provide one of the clearest examples. Throughout the Gospels, they repeatedly misunderstood Jesus. Their assumptions are challenged. —> Their expectations collapse. —> Their understanding expands. This is the pattern. And even after years of walking beside him, they continued to discover that God is different, larger, and more beautiful than they imagined.

But the cruciform God revealed in Jesus does not abandon them because they misunderstand. Far from it! He continues to patiently teach them.

And he does the same with us.

It may also be helpful to remember, as we mentioned earlier, that changing our understanding is not the same thing as rejecting everything that came before.

Just as a child learning to navigate the street is not betraying earlier lessons, growth almost always builds upon previous stages rather than discarding them entirely. Earlier understandings may have been sincere, helpful, and even necessary for a particular season of life. They simply may not be the whole story.

This is true in nearly every area of life. We do not accuse a student of betraying mathematics because they moved beyond basic arithmetic into algebra. We do not accuse a musician of betraying beginner lessons because they learn more advanced techniques. Growth honors what came before while continuing to move forward.

Faith works in just the same way.

This does not mean that every new idea is automatically true. Growth still requires humility, discernment, wisdom, and openness to correction. Yet neither should we assume that change is automatically unfaithful.

Changing our minds is not evidence that we are moving away from God. It is very often evidence that we are continuing to follow.

The goal of the spiritual life is not to arrive at a place where no further growth is possible. That will never happen. The goal is to remain open to truth, open to love, and open to the ongoing work of transformation that God is doing within us.

Perhaps faithfulness is not measured by how tightly we cling to certainty. Perhaps faithfulness is measured by our willingness to keep saying yes to love wherever it leads.

If so, then growth is not betrayal. Growth may simply be one of the ways we participate in the lifelong journey of living into our belovedness.

A MAP FOR THE JOURNEY

As we have explored throughout this chapter, growth is a natural part of life. Yet growth rarely feels straightforward when we are experiencing it. Questions emerge. Assumptions shift. New possibilities appear. At times, it can be difficult to know where we are or what is happening within us.

For this reason, many psychologists, theologians, and spiritual teachers have developed what are known as stage theories of faith and/or human development. These theories attempt to describe common patterns that people often experience as they grow and mature.

Before we go any further, however, I want to first say what these models are not: they are not measurements of worth. They are not tests to determine who is “right” or “wrong.” They are not ladders to climb. They are not tools for judging ourselves or others. And they are certainly not descriptions of a neat, linear process that everyone follows in the same way. Human beings are far more complex than that.

At best, these models are maps. And like all maps, they are imperfect. A map can help us understand where we are and where we have been, but it can never fully capture the richness and complexity of the actual journey.

Of the many faith stage theories that exist, the one I have found most helpful comes from Brian McLaren. While I do not believe it is the only way to understand spiritual growth, I appreciate the compassion and humility it brings to the conversation.

McLaren describes four broad stages of faith: Simplicity, Complexity, Perplexity, and Harmony.

These stages are not boxes into which people permanently fit. Most of us move back and forth between them throughout our lives. We may find ourselves in Simplicity in one area of life and Perplexity in another. Seasons of grief, change, trauma, or transition may move us into a different stage for a time.

The value of these maps is not that they tell us where we should be. The value is that they remind us that growth is normal.

They help us recognize that questioning is not failure, uncertainty is not weakness, and change should not be seen as a sign that something has gone wrong.

Perhaps most importantly, they invite us to extend compassion both to ourselves and to others, because if this series has taught us anything, it is that love grows whenever we learn to see one another with greater understanding, humility, and grace.

As we close this series, I find myself returning to the image of the street.

As a child, I needed the lessons that helped keep me safe. Those lessons were not wrong. They were necessary. Yet they were never intended to keep me standing on the sidewalk forever.

The goal was always growth. The goal was always to prepare me for a larger world.

The same is true of most things in life, including faith.

As we grow, our understanding grows. As we encounter new experiences, our perspectives expand. As we learn, heal, struggle, question, and mature, we discover that reality is larger, more beautiful, and more mysterious than we previously imagined.

Yes, this can feel unsettling at times, but we need not fear it.

If there is one thing I hope this epilogue has communicated, it is that growth is not failure. Growth is not betrayal. Growth is not something that happens only to a select few. Growth is part of being human.

And it is part of being faithful as well.

The journey of faith has never been about arriving at perfect certainty. It has always been about learning to trust the One who walks with us through every season of the journey.

The same God who was present in our earlier understandings is present in our later ones as well. The same God who met us at the beginning of the road continues to meet us further down the path.

And so, if you find yourself growing, questioning, learning, feeling, or seeing things differently than you once did, perhaps the invitation is not to panic, retreat, or condemn yourself. Perhaps the invitation is simply to keep walking

The road is still leading somewhere beautiful. And the One who called your name at the beginning of the journey will never leave your side.