30.
Whatever this dreaded fear of joining the 3-0 club is, I'm not getting it. I guess there's the reality that things are starting to break down, and I'm craving 10 hours of sleep at night instead of 6, and the appeal of filling life so full that it's hard to breathe is starting to lose its luster. But aside from the obvious, I'm actually quite excited about a new season, about leaning into the next few years.
There's a freedom that comes with feeling as if you know a little bit more of who you are at the age of 30 than you did at 20. And there's a freedom that comes with the acknowledgement that though you never fully stop growing and adapting and learning, you've done enough searching and digging and molding for enough time that it starts to feel as if it counts. There's a freedom that comes from feeling stronger and more confident and being able to release the idea that you have to have it all figured out and instead start to really live into who you are at present, who God created you to be. It's a gift.
So here I land, three weeks into 30, and I have been poured into so much in that time.
30 thoughtful little gifts from my family. Tasty cupcakes from a dear friend. Beautiful flowers from some of my very favorite littles. Cake and sweet prayers from my ComGroup.
And then these:
"Happy happy 30th birthday dear one! I LOVE my thirties. I pray you will continue to stretch into the full potential of who God made you to be."
"May the Lord grant you a year of unexpected gifts."
"Happy birthday friend! Hope it involves a bowl of ice cream as big as your face!" (by one who knows me a little too well!)
"So thankful for your friendship and praying today will be full of love and blessings. Hopeful for the good things to come in year 30!"
And on and on. And those words are exactly what I think everyone should hear most on their 30th. Words of encouragement and excitement and "the best is ahead".
I also stumbled upon this as I was forming these thoughts. It's raw and it's real, and I don't feel like the anti-aging parts represent me at all, but it speaks of being known and loved as we are, and I am soaking in these lines:
The point is that your life is meant to be spent.
You have to let your life wrinkle. You have to let hope get into the fold of things. You are here to be spent. Saving yourself up isn't how the saved are meant to live.
There are days in which I toy with the idea of a safe, contained life, of this "saving myself up". A normal schedule, a larger budget, an 8-5 job. Career success in artistic endeavors. Owning a nice home. Buying furniture that actually matches! A nice, clean, cookie-cutter existence does at times appeal. But when I compare those things to this "me" that I know, well, there's no real comparison at all. (Read: NOT a knock on those who choose those things; it's just not me.) I am unconventional, I am appalled at white picket fences, and I would feel trapped working 8-5 in a high-rise office building and attaining a larger-than-life paycheck. But this idea of spending life, of using life, of growing and aging into who God created us to be – that I can get behind. The idea that it is enough to just be known – by ourselves and by others.
Life is meant to be spent!
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