Happy Birthday to Me
I’m 29 today. 29. 29. This is my last birthday “not in my thirties.” At least for a decade. I’m trying to let that sink in. I am definitely not where I thought I would be.
My big sister and I shared a room until she went to college. When we were little bits living in the old house on Stewart St, we use to play like we were 22 years old. That was the perfect age. Still young and beautiful, but grown up and at the peak of wisdom. We pretended that we lived in Paris and owned a perfume company. I still love perfume. However, I don’t like the French. (sorry Sara. I love you, though!)
As I grew up, 22 was still the magic age. I just knew that I would find my Someone in college and be married the summer after graduation. “Dear Jesus. Thank you that I wasn’t married at 22. Amen.” I look back on myself at 22 and laugh at the thought of me being ready for marriage then.
God has taken me places I never dreamed. And He has detoured me around places I was sure I would go. A few years ago, at the Addlestone House, I wrote God a letter and told Him that I wanted love and marriage and children. But most of all, I wanted life to be an adventure. The thought of “status quo” made me feel like I was suffocating. Praying that is like praying for patience. It’s a prayer that He most assuredly answered, but it hasn’t looked like those familiar day dreams for one moment. I feel like my heart is a blank sheet of paper that I am waiting in anticipation for Jesus to write on. There is great freedom in that. I just want Him to love me. I just want to love Him. I just want others to see Him in me. (pleading) Jesus, please use me.
And now, 29 and never-been-kissed, (really ready to be out of that club, btw) let alone married with kids, I finally feel free to dream with an open hand. After all, we can’t make idols out of the dreams God gives us. Don’t worry, mom. I still want my own family. But I no longer have a picture of what “it’s” supposed to look like. My Jesus is creative!
I am confident that I am where I should be. Not in a geographical or relational sense, but being content with where Jesus has me and Him. And thank goodness it’s not Paris.