Take My Life

Today I turned 34.

Somehow, each year the number seems so old, but I still feel like the same "young" me. Maybe wiser, hopefully gentler, but still me at the core.

Rocky and I were just talking about how old being in your 30s used to seem when we were kids. In fact, I'm sure many of our elementary school teachers were probably in their 20s, and we thought they were old!

I never thought I'd be an "old" mom. Sure, I knew I'd wait longer to have kids than my own mom did (hello, 17!), but I thought I'd get married in my mid-twenties, have a few babies, adopt a few more and call it a day, attending my kids' high school graduations before I turned 50.

Boy, did I have a few things wrong.

Never could I have imagined the path my life has taken. The valleys and mountains, the victories and struggles. Never could I fathom that each new year would be better than the last; that looking back on my life I would see God's grace and goodness more and more as time passes.

For that, and so many other things, I am thankful.

This morning my little one ran downstairs in his underwear to tell me "Happy Birthday" and give me a hug. It was pretty much the best birthday greeting ever. The Avengers underwear didn't hurt. Neither did the sweet cocoa skin and genuine excitement my son had for my special day. My big boy is shy, and heart-felt sentiments embarrass him. He wants to be cuddled until the cows come home, but words, and expressing love verbally, are hard for him. He still managed to mutter a "Happy Birthday" behind bashful eyes before running away. I'll take it.

Thirty-four years of life.

That's more than Jesus lived, you know.

I'm one year older than he was at the time of his death.

And I'm hoping and praying for many more years with the ones I love.

I have so much to learn. So much to grow. So much to see, taste, experience, enjoy.

I also have so much to labor. So much to toil. So much to carry, reconcile, bury and let go.

There are parts (big parts) of me that wishes my life was much like my lunch break today; A spa facial in a quiet, dimly-lit room, surrounded by soothing scents and sounds. I desire to be insulated, cocooned, left alone in peace. Clean sheets and aromatherapy.

But this life I'm living, the one I like to think I've chosen, but one that truthfully has been chosen for me, this life is messy and painful and full of sacrifices and interruptions and inconveniences. It's piles of dishes and laundry, tutoring, cleaning (again), incessant chatter and busyness. Not much external peace.

And yet...

There He is. Offering me peace. And joy. And wholeness.

Offering me a life that is more beautiful, more true, even in its brokenness, than that spa room that beckons every part of my selfish flesh.

He has called me and He has planted me and shown me favor beyond what I deserve.

He has entrusted me with my husband, my children, my job and my calling.

He has equipped me for every good work He has asked me to do.

This year, my 34th year, He has called me to mother my first-born child, for whom I have prayed for a long time. He has called me advocate for my boys, to encourage my husband, to step away from the security I find in my career. And for some reason, maybe it's the time of year or the growing life inside me, but I can't stop thinking about Mary. I can't stop thinking about how she felt every kick, and wiggle and hiccup of her Savior son as he grow in her belly. Every time my son kicks I want to cry thinking about Mary and her baby, Jesus. She must've felt all the things I feel when he moves. She must have prayed over him and the great unknown, because even if your son is destined for greatness, does he not still need your prayers?

This dear, sweet baby of mine. I know God has a plan for him, and I am so honored that God has chosen Rocky and I to steward His life for our King.

I will walk into my 34th year with confident faith that Jesus is good, for my life is a living testimony to his faithfulness.