I turned thirty this week. It’s a strange time to celebrate a birthday. That’s for sure. It was a quiet day but a special one with fresh flowers and our favorite take out tacos, baby giggles (and some wailing too—because it’s real life in this house), and a surprise drive by party with faces I haven’t seen in too long. And thus begins a new decade.
I couldn’t help but think back over all that’s happened in the last ten years. I graduated from college and from seminary. I got married. I’ve lived in eight different places (I hope this next decade doesn’t include any more moving boxes). I signed my first book contract and can see that book’s entrance to the world on the not so distant horizon. I’ve made precious friends, and said goodbye too many times. I’ve wept over losses. I’ve endured the litany of doctor’s offices and tests because of a strange illness and infertility. We welcomed our first child into the world. It’s been ten years of life, really, its joys and sorrows, its questions and lived-into answers, a steady build up of mundane moments colliding with glory.
As I sit here at the beginning of a new decade of life, I’m reminded of the importance of true and lasting friendship, of those people who stick around long enough and love me steadfastly enough to watch my story unfold—and let me be a part of their own. I’m reminded that all I’ve learned and studied has gone on to show me how much I still don’t know, and perhaps never will. And I’m reminded of God’s audacious work in shaping lives, in redeeming pain, welcoming me into his grand story.
Even as the cake in my refrigerator disappears, the flowers fade, the birthday balloons sink to the ground—those things will not change. Here’s to you, 30, and all that lies ahead.
