I’m assuming it’s because I’m seven months pregnant with a toddler at my feet that I’m nostalgic about turning 39 this year. After all, isn’t that supposed to wait until you’re 40?
But here I am a now 39-year-old woman living a 28-year-old’s life, and I can’t help but sit in disbelief that I’m entering the last year of my 30’s.
My adult life has turned out nothing like I thought it would.
The other day I did some quick calculations, and my grandfather was 43 when I was born. 43?!?! Granted, my mom was 22 when she had me, but how is it possible that I could be a grandmother in four years?
As a natural melancholic, it would be easy for me to lament the fact that my life hasn’t gone exactly as planned. If I think hard enough regret begins to seethe through my bones and bitterness through my flesh.
But instead I’m thinking a lot about who I am today compared to who I was ten years ago, and rejoicing in the fact that my daughter (soon to be daughters) will never know the 29-year-old me. It’s not that I was a horrible person or lived some rebellious lifestyle, but I was single and deeply insecure. Not to mention self-absorbed, pining after something that I now know can never satisfy the deepest parts of your soul. I was determined to have my way.
Then my thirties happened and God grew me up. My twenties were the years I lived the lessons. My thirties were the years I learned from the lessons.
In my thirties the pieces of the puzzle started to come together and “Ah-ha” moments exploded left and right. God gave me a clear calling and that decade of confusion began to have purpose. I even got a few second chances. Like when He asked me to surrender my singleness to Him in my twenties and I flat-out refused. Then He asked me to surrender my new husband and I knew better than to refuse. It was my second chance to show God’s glory.
Over the past several months Satan has whispered lies about my birthday today. Things like I’m too old to make a difference or start something new. Or that I’m not going to be “relevant” (the buzz word of the day) with younger women and even my daughters as they grow after I enter my 40’s. I’ll be too out of style, too behind-the-times, and maybe even too fat (Yes, my weight came to mind. He’ll use anything we’re self-concious about.)
Everywhere I’ve gone I’ve mentioned that I’m getting old – the hair salon, my OB’s office, small group, and just talking to friends. It’s my subtle way to beg people to tell me I’m really not as old as I think I am.
However, I have a bit of a competitive streak in me at times where if you tell me I can’t do something I’m bound and determined to prove to you that I can. So in more recent weeks I’ve taken these lies I’m believing to task, and I’ve become determined to end this decade full of triumph instead of defeat.
Because, as I’m starting to realize, giving up too soon is the biggest tragedy my world could know. I have girls to raise, a husband to love, a story to share, women to mentor, passions to fight for, and a Jesus to show the world. Oh, Satan wants me to give up. He wants me to believe that it’s too late, I missed the boat, and there’s no use in trying.
But I’m refusing to believe it.
Our culture puts ages and stages in boxes: the discovery years, the child-rearing years, the empty-nester years, the retirement years. But God sees no boxes. He sees one big life, that if it’s here, then there’s a purpose and more work to be done. Right up until the last breath.
So here’s to ending this decade of my life well and entering into a new one full of all the promises God has for me. There’s no time to waste but a lifetime that could make a difference still left to live.
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