My thirtieth birthday has come in much like 2019- with regular, lovely, grueling rhythms that I feel God using to shape parts of myself that I can’t think about right now because my mind is full of diapers and formula. Our new baby, who I’ll introduce properly soon, woke up at 5:15 hungry, and her almost two-year-old brother woke up at 5:30 for no good reason other than he heard another human or maybe because he’s almost two and he does what he wants. Husbandman and I divided and conquered until the baby was done eating, and I sent him back to bed because I couldn’t understand his English: it had escaped to that sleepy place where it made sense in his head but something got mixed up on its way out. LIttleman and I had breakfast by ourselves and played until Husbandman woke up and they went to the early service at church. The baby woke up right after they left because she senses when I’m going to have a few moments to myself and must be part of them like she was when I was pregnant, and I worked with her to eat and go to the bathroom until Husbandman and Littleman came home. (How did I forget how much work feeding an infant is?) More food for Littleman, cooking for the grownups, laundry, discussions with Husbandman about frightenly adult things that I would rather not deal with right now, naps for Littleman, an awake baby as soon as Littleman went to sleep, rinse and repeat. What day is today? Oh, right. It’s my birthday. I’m thirty.
I don’t have new wisdom now that I have a new number in the tens place of my age; I’m too full of thoughts about who needs to eat when and the last time everybody pooped. I’m happy to be thirty- I’ve been looking forward to this age. My twenties were a roller coaster. College, marriage, work, losing an expendable organ, graduate school, scary health things with Husbandman, getting pregnant, buying a house, losing a baby, getting pregnant again, having a living baby, learning to parent, getting pregnant again, and having another baby to bring home from the hospital. Many of these experiences have left scars, and I’ll be the first to admit that I carry a few wrinkles and more than my fair share of grey hairs because of them. But I’m grateful. I have seen God’s goodness in lack and in plenty, and I can still say with confidence that He is good.
I want my thirties to be meaningful. I am under no impression that they will be only full of fun, lighthearted experiences, nor do I want them to be. I have learned the most about God when I have walked through hard places; so I know that when I walk through them again, He will be right there with me. I want my work to bring value and encouragement to other people. My prayer for my thirties is that they would honor God and build up His kingdom, and bring opportunities to speak life and truth into the lives of the people that He loves.