29 Years Young

Today is my birthday. I’m 29.

Here I am, at the end of my twenties– the roller coaster track that “click-click-clicks” up and up and up, until you’re at the top looking out over the whole amusement park, realizing that your stomach is about to swallow itself as you plummet down the ramp into a whole new decade of life. 

“30 is nigh!” is the thought that’s been on repeat in my mind. But last night at dinner with Alex, I decided that I don’t want to spend 29 wondering about 30. This birthday, and this year, I want to reflect on everything I’ve come through in my twenties. I’d like to pay homage to everything I’ve learned and all the places God has led me to, through, and away from. I want to “look out” over all the ground I’ve covered in the past decade, as I “click” to the top of this roller coaster ramp and wait to drop into something new and exciting, into 30. 

And so, below, in no particular order, I’ve written some tokens from my 20’s. The ones I keep on me for good luck, the pieces I look at for nostalgia and comfort, that remind me where I am coming from and where I am headed. 

1. I don’t have to be afraid of suffering: grief and anger deserve space in my life.  

   These are emotions that express pain and sorrow and truth. To press them down or ignore them (especially in honor of some false sense of “sanctimonium”) is to do myself a disservice. God is present in the deep sadness of death. And he is present and constant amidst seething anger and lack of understanding toward him. I have learned the importance of letting these feelings out, letting them breathe and fully express themselves in my life. God is not afraid of these reactions, so I don’t have to be either. They are good for my health.

2. I don’t have to be ashamed of changing: what nourishes me is what matters.
   If I am growing, I am changing. If I am changing, the landscape around me is evolving. If all around me is new and to be discovered, then what I require for care and love and health is probably going to change. For me, in this last decade, this was proven true time and time again. Each time I bore such a change outwardly, I was afraid that the changes in me wouldn’t be accepted: how I voted, how I saw God, how I spent my money and time, what I read, who I listened to, on and on and on. I felt pretty insecure for talking about these things if my ideas had become different from the school of common thought around me. In my early twenties, I think what I feared most was being so different from those I love, that I was deemed unrecognizable and thus rejected. Now I know that our differences don’t deny me their acceptance and love– it’s unconditional from the ones around me who matter. My spiritual director, Ann, said to me last week, “You know what nourishes you. And you don’t need to apologize to anyone for that.” These 10 years have been spent figuring out what nourishes me– spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and physically. Sometimes, what nourishes me now, isn’t what nourishes the people around me. And that’s okay. Sometimes, what nourished me 3 years ago doesn’t nourish me now. And that’s okay.

3. I don’t have to be afraid of love: it’s terrifying but worth it

   People die. People lie. People get sick. People change. People are not guarantees to health, wealth, and happiness. If you say yes to love on your wedding day at 25, you have no idea where those wedding vows will take you or what exactly they’ll mean when you’re 28, 29, or 55. But I have learned that love is spectacular and the greatest miracle I’ve taken part in, yet, in this life. It’s worth the risk. When I took that risk nearly 4 years ago, I didn’t know that in it, I’d see God. 

4. Trust is always better.
   Trust people. Especially the ones you love. Give them the benefit of the doubt when you’re left waiting, or wondering. Give yourself to them in trust, without pulling on strings you’ve attached.
   Trust God when nothing makes sense. Trust is also just as risky as love. Almost out of my 20’s, I can say that I know my life has been so much lighter, easier, and kinder in times I chose to trust instead of worry and doubt the people and surroundings of my life. 

5. I don’t have to be afraid of saying no. I need to take care of myself. I don’t have to be afraid of saying yes: I need to take care of myself.

   I’ve learned to say no to overextending myself, but that lesson came very late, long after my wick was nearly quenched. I’ve learned to say no to feeling embarrassed about my current season in life. If God is not embarrassed of me, then I don’t need to be either. I’ve learned to say no to lying to myself, and to say no to lying to others, just to save face. This also came too late, after some of my closest friends were left in the wake of my painful dishonesty. Now, at 29, I can say no to the things that hurt me, physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally– and I have learned not to say sorry afterward, for saying no. I’ve learned to say yes to new things. Say yes to new cultures. I’ve learned to say yes to hearing someone’s story. Say yes to indulgence. I’ve learned to say yes to discipline. Say yes (and thank you) when your friend offers to buy you dinner or a drink or get your coffee. Say yes to long walks and “accidentally” leaving your phone at home for once. Say yes to God before he asks you the question.

In this beautiful span of a decade, I have finished school. I have lived overseas. I have worked in full-time ministry. I have gotten married. I have taught refugees their ABC’s. I have become an auntie. I have moved across the country. I have been a full time first grade teacher. I have made friends. I have kept friends. I have lost friends. I experienced the hardest death my young life has seen yet. I have seen cancer win. I have seen cancer lose. I have faced my fears. I have faced a therapist. I have faced a spiritual director. I have faced old bosses and new bosses and potential bosses. I have faced oncoming traffic in NYC. 

And I have lived through it all, coming out all over the place– on top of the mountain, in the valley, or somewhere between. 

I look back at the tapestry God is weaving. The tapestry of my life, with all the colors of emotion and event, the daily processes and tears– and I see such beauty. I think about the song of my life so far, the one God is composing, with all the sour, dark suites that gently slip into a grandiose symphony of “only the good notes” (as Jack Black so sweetly declares to Kate Winslet in the Holiday). 

I know God likes to writing my life song. I like what he’s got so far, which is why I’m even writing this.  

I am thankful for every harsh, ugly, sorrowful, beautiful, lovely, hilarious, uncanny, amazing moment. 

Because God has led me through all of them here, to 29. 

And the hanging strings and plucked notes of mercy and grace and love and goodness that he has placed into every moment are all precious to me.  I never want to lose sight or sound of each and every one. 

So, this year, I say a drawn out goodbye to my twenties. 
And I’m reallllllly gonna milk it, ’cause they were just so damn good. 

Yes, 30 is nigh, but even that holds so much promise when I consider what a gift life is, and how beautiful the love of God is,
the stuff that fills up every nook and cranny of it.