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On turning thirty.

March 24, 2014

My co-worker Chantell tells me she cried rivers on the day she turned 30. At the same table, another co-worker laments her frustration with the underwhelming celebration of her 30th birthday. I’m still coming to terms with how I feel this week. 30 is big. 30 is a milestone. 30 is something.

Truthfully I don’t understand the stigma. But that could be, of course, because I’m so wildly in love with my life. My job is successful and pointing in great places. My child is happy, healthy and full of sarcastic potential. The sex is great and my husband always does the dishes after I cook. I live in a beautiful home in a sterile neighborhood and my fridge is full. My car starts every morning and my dog, as much as I dislike her, keeps us aware of every neighborhood inconsistency. I weigh less today than the day I was married and I still have cheeseburgers once a week. I am living a perfect life. And now I’m 30.

So what?

When I look back on where I have been, and I try to remember what kind of life I dreamed of as a child, this is better than that. I grew up dreaming of a clean house with lots of laughter and intentional time and giving. I dreamed of a career. I dreamed of an education. I dreamed of a big family, with a house full of bunk beds.

And there’s the only snag…

After two years of unsuccessfully trying to fulfill that need to increase my family in number, I feel content, knowing we’ve increased in so many other ways. This has been the happiest year of my marriage. It’s been the year I was able to let go of expectations and live in moments and let my kitchen get crumby from time to time without feeling like a failure on every level. Yes I am 30 now and every passing month feels like one month further away from ever getting pregnant again. And there have been months when that has really broken my spirit. In brokenness, I have searched after truth and wisdom. In truth I see the blessings I’ve been given. And in wisdom I find beautiful grace in asking for more when I deserve it the least.

I’m happy to be turning 30. I’m happy to be his wife and I’m blessed to be his mother. And I’m going to wait and see what is next with excitement. It may not always be this high but today, at the age of 30, I feel good. I feel undeserving.

I feel superbly loved.

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