What thirty-nine looks like...

Oh thirty-nine.  You are so fine.  

The more birthdays I have, the more I love them.  I think people have caught on to that because the fanfare seems to grow annually.  It’s a great time for reflection, a great time for a self-check as to who and where you are, and more importantly who you want to be.  I think back to 29, and the tiny house with the one-year old who we were trying desperately to get to sleep at night.  I lived in 1100 square feet of sippy cups and Elmo, oblivious to real problems. And then, a few days after my 29th birthday my mom was diagnosed with cancer.  The jarring and jolting reality would begin a decade of my life that in some ways would become terribly worse before it got much better, and better would sometimes only mean different.  I would question God, be angry at God, try to make deals with Him, and then eventually learn to trust Him in all circumstances, well most, because I’m human.  And He made me anyway so he already knew that part.  

Thirty-nine is certainly not old.  I’m surrounded by those who are both older and younger and in reality I think I’m the same age until they tell me how old they are and I realize that was so 15 years ago.  And when I take a closer look, they had time and cared enough to curl their hair and the wrinkles around my eyes from years of laughter aren’t really there on them.  But, I’m good, because I’ve laughed more.  And, they are sending me pictures of their sonograms and videos of their babies crawling so that’s a bonus.  We are all the same.  We all have struggles and some of those 26 and 29 year olds have it much more together than I do.  And they struggle more than I do, or at least differently.  

Somewhere along this last decade, the little boy that watched Elmo and wouldn’t go to bed is now in middle school.  I’m praying that he walks out everyday and is respectful, loves others, and loves God.  I’m praying that he has good friends and that he makes good choices.  Sometimes I’m praying that God will hold back my hand from his smart mouth or that God will grant me the patience to show him how to “find x” for the tenth time.  This was my exact prayer at about 10 pm on my birthday.  I am so fully invested in his future that I have spent the last decade pushing and encouraging and shoving his introverted little self into the uncomfortable when I just wanted to scoop him up and go home.  But, I know that one day he will find his voice and people will know how funny he is and appreciate how deeply he thinks and how fully he loves.  I know this because I used to be him.  And I do this because in another decade he will be twenty-one and the world will have him.  But, for now, if I need to reassure him at the start line before high-tailing it to the bottom of the hill to see him run, I’ll do it, because he asked me to.  And I can.   

Somewhere else along this decade, I gave birth to what I could best compare to Olaf, the happy snowman from the Frozen movie.  I named her Martha after the other most doggedly determined person I know besides myself and there is no doubt it was perfect.  God’s timing was also perfect as she had no idea how her joy helped to overshadow sorrow as I rocked her to sleep when she was a baby.  She has no idea how her busy little toddler body that would not allow me to stop gave me no choice but to put aside my problems and keep going.  She shares my love for pronto pups, jewelry, magazines, and shoes, but also for people.  She sees only the good and gives her all, but can size up reality faster than you can blink.  For my birthday she wrapped up a bracelet that she had bought with her own money, one that she insisted was for her when we were shopping one day.  She was so proud of herself and I am even more proud of that sparkly little bracelet.  Now, I didn’t make her heart that big, God did, but she teaches me to open mine up just a little more.    

At thirty-nine, what I really am is okay.  Not the kind of complacent okay because you can always improve, but the kind of comfortable-in-my-skin okay.   I am okay with the fact that it’s really hard to change my mind once it’s made up or hurry me up if I’m not ready, the brutal honesty that flies out of my mouth, and the wrinkly skin on the top of my hands that I noticed now puddles like play doh under one of those public restroom hand dryers.  The only thing that really matters is that these hands can hold a little hand when it reaches out and untie a knot it a yo-yo string at a moment’s notice.  I am okay that sometimes I can’t “people” anymore and retreat to Friday nights at home with cheap pizza.  I’m okay that I can’t pretend to like things that I don’t, like camping and Brussels sprouts, unsolicited advice, Metallica, and being cold.  And, I’m totally okay with my decision to abort dorm accommodations for the Hilton if the opportunity should arise.  

I’m okay with getting older because older means living.  Age is just a number but when you work hard for those numbers they mean a lot more.  I looked down once at a stack of medical papers with my name, birthdate, and age printed on them at thirty-three and I was told that was all I would get.  Last week, I ran a race and when I looked up my time, reality hit as I saw a “39” beside my name.  There’s just something about seeing it in print.  When I saw that the other two people that beat me were thirty, I wanted to complain about the 9-year age bracket but I bet their next decade will look nothing like mine.  Let them have that one.  

At thirty-nine, I sure don’t have it all figured out.  In fact, many times my every day life looks a lot like a reality TV show.  But, I’ve learned to hold on to what’s important.  I’ve learned that if something keeps you up at night, then it’s a good idea to do something about it because it very well might be the Holy Spirit.  I’ve learned the true meanings of hope and love and I have very tangible examples of them.  And when the conversation turns to grace, I can usually one-up that too.  I’ve learned to persevere and I see glimpses that my children are learning this too - when your shoe falls off in a race, you keep running; when third grade is hard, you press on.  I’ve learned to look at the perspective of others before I make judgements because most of the time the intent is good, it’s the execution that is poor.  I’ve learned that my kitchen table is the safest ground for discussion, laughs, and solving the world’s problems because the end result is always to turn the lights off and go to bed.  I’ve also learned that a cup of coffee and a decorating magazine can be equal to an attitude adjustment, especially if enjoyed on a patio.  

At thirty-nine I do hard things.  I still don’t want to, but I do them.  I do them and move on to the next thing, sometimes learning from it and sometimes just checking it off the list.  And sometimes buying myself some earrings because hard things deserve earrings.  

Every month, my good friends at CVS send me a little card with my chemo drugs that has funny little sayings like, “may you be happier than a bird with a french fry.”  Maybe they knew it was my birthday, because this month’s quote was from the great Mark Twain and very fittingly said, “Wrinkles merely indicate where smiles have been.”  Bring on the wrinkles.  Bring on the smiles.  Where most people are looking at forty with a side eye, I’m headed for it with a wide-eyed grin. 

One thing’s for sure, I’m going to be one heck of an old lady.  

Thirty-nine and counting....

KJ