Thirty

I turned thirty yesterday. Which is weird. I remember when my parents were thirty.

My grandmother told me that the day she turned thirty she stood alone in her bedroom, looked in the mirror, and said, "Well, I guess you have about five good years left." Which is hilarious.

But sad then, I'm sure.

I had no such moment.  I did look back on some of my writing from a year or two ago, but I wasn't sad. I was encouraged.

I keep seeing this running theme in my life of striving towards graciousness and encountering trials. Sermons, books, conversations, circumstance, all of it seems to point me back towards the fact that God can use my current state to draw me closer to him. Towards the wonderful hope that God is present in the struggle, there in the storm.

Usually this serves me in hindsight and remembrance. As in, I can look back over my life and be grateful after the fact that I went through conflict, was humbled, experienced loss, whatever. And it is in the remembrance that I can see God at work. It is later that I am glad that I wasn't in control.

It's been a rough week--Jonah had croup and an ear infection so there were sleepless nights and fevers and a visit to the doctor and antibiotics. (I HATE when my kids are sick.) Monday night I was awake from midnight to 6 am, and Jonah would cough and cry and fall asleep for three minutes and cough and wake himself up again. I paced our house for hours. And we rocked and rocked and rocked. And I turned on Pride and Prejudice and watched Lizzie and Mr. Darcy with subtitles and squinty, tired, cynical eyes as they fell in love.

I would lay down with Jonah still in my arms and as soon as I would get comfortable, he would wake again. This probably happened seven or eight times. Seth and I would look at each other with worry and wonder if we should take him to the ER. There were times when I would feel anger and extreme desperation and throw back the covers and swaddle Jonah as tight as I could and just feel the absolute need to control this situation and get some sleep! What was going to happen if I didn't?!?!

But actually, for the most part, I felt concern and compassion for my poor baby boy who couldn't sleep himself. And I was cognitive and aware of the fact that God was with me. I kept repeating the line of that song in my head, "The only fitness he requires is to feel your need of him." And that was enough most times. I knew that God was using this to transform me, to make me more Christlike. I felt content to walk through the storm, and to be completely honest and serious, I feel like that is a miracle.

I almost feel like admitting this is asking for huge tragedy to strike and then God will make me eat my words when I cry out in anger and despair. In psychology classes, they would call me an adult child of divorce, and that I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. In our marriage, I have had to learn that through the marital spats and conflicts, Seth will still be there afterwards, we will work things out together, and that things will come round in the end. And just like that, I am learning that God will continue to be there, that he is "not bound by calamity" (to quote a friend), and that even should tragedy occur, things will come round in the end.

I celebrated my birthday with my friends last night. We went to dinner and had queso blanco (which might be my favorite food on earth), and tacos carnitas, and BIG margaritas. And we came home and had an elaborate dessert (Moroccan cake) that my friends made for me simply because I'd been craving it. (To paraphrase Wendell Berry: What else is heaven, but to have desire and satisfaction in the same room?) We played The Fishbowl Game and I laughed the hardest I have in awhile. They sang me "Happy Birthday," and I opened my many gifts that they were so thoughtful to bring. Everything and everyone made me feel known and loved.

I felt a little bit like I had been ill and alone and that some kind souls from the church had brought me Communion in my sick bed.

Because, of course, they had.