Dear friend,
Tomorrow I turn 40. Over the years I have celebrated my birthday in many ways, from pasta parties to French 75 cocktails to casual gatherings at home. Though all have been special, the details of them have long since passed from my memory — they’re now simply woven into the tapestry of my life. And it’s been a great life so far!
This year, I’ll be celebrating my birthday quite casually — the day is sandwiched between homeschool coop days and end of year activities in perhaps one of the busiest seasons of life to date.
Though it was 19 years ago now, one of the last birthdays I can recall distinctly was my 21st. I remember this birthday because a) I ate a hot dog from a gas station, which if you know me at all, you know is unbelievably uncharacteristic and b) I met Stuart the following weekend. Life, as they say, would never be the same.
The day we met, I had yet to fully battle with the blood-bath that is the Christian conversion, tumultuously living with one foot in and one foot out of my faith. Scripture calls this sort of faith “lukewarm”; I think this is putting it quite kindly. What I was living in at that time, on that birthday all those years ago, was little more than the filth. I was wrestling. I was wallowing in a pigsty of my own making. My friend Audrey often says “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” and so it was. This was a birthday I spent winning stupid prizes for playing stupid games.
And then came my 22nd birthday.
But for it glorifying the work of God’s mercy and grace in my life, I would never wish to think of these times again. These were not my good ‘ol days. They were not “free,” or “liberating,” or “youthfully ignorant.” They were sinful against the God who made me. Now, I’m not one for overturning rocks and digging through the mud to show the world the true weight of my sin. You can trust it existed. If you’re here for the gory details, I fear you’ll leave disappointed. (Man, does the internet love gory details.)
Above I used the word blood-bath to describe the Christian conversion and it is one I have openly stolen from Rosaria Butterfield who wrote Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert. It is the best word I have to describe what it felt like to become a Christian — not a cultural Christian, but like, a believing one. A Christian who clings to it all, completely, under threat of death or pain or exile. A Christian who looks to the gospel as the lighthouse in the storm — who chooses to hand their life over to a man who lived over 2,000 years ago. My conversion felt like a blood-bath. It meant separating myself from almost every friend I had ever known (bonded by sin, not much was left over to sustain such relationships.) I moved back home and away from a lifestyle leading me astray. I got back to church after years away. I threw myself into reading the gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John) over and over and over again, devouring it with a sense of urgency and fear and delight. With Stuart’s encouragement, I read through catechisms. I wrestled and cried and mourned and rejoiced.
It was a severe pruning; the Lord fulfilled his promise to faithfully cut off every branch that was not bearing good fruit. I began to wearily outstretch my new baby branches. I felt naked and exposed.
By my 23rd birthday, I was married to a man who loved the Lord and faithfully walked alongside me as I continued to be shaped by my Good Gardener. I fell back into bad habits and was convicted by new ones, and yet somehow both the Lord and Stuart loved me faithfully through the stumbling. I learned to speak the words “Please forgive me,” even when my flesh wanted so badly to fight. Those limbs were cut off and dead. New life had been given space to grow.
On my 24th birthday I was pregnant with my first child.
On my 30th I was pregnant with my last.
Now, at 40 tomorrow, I have a houseful of teenagers and preteens — some of whom are bigger than both Stuart and I!
a party past
I mark this birthday by celebrating that I have been in the Lord, and he has been in me, for 19 years. Not in a lukewarm way, or in a one foot in and one foot out way, but in a full submission sort of way. Where each day I hold my open palms up to heaven and say “this life is for you, Lord, do with it what you will.” If you actually believe this, it’s a terrifying thought — to submit your life to the Lord is to willingly accept that he will prune you, he will grow you, he will change you, and this will cost you. It is not without pain, without failings, or without loss (and in fact, great faith produces more of these.) And yet, at 40, I do not wish for more money, more fame, more attention, or more youth; I wish to delight and rejoice in the God who rescued me and washed me clean.
On my 20th birthday, I prayed that my (then) boyfriend and I would get married. God said no. And I praise him for that. He spared me a life spent in a godless marriage.
On my 24th birthday, I prayed that my birth with Georgia would go to plan and I could use the birthing center and midwife I’d grown comfortable with. God said no. And I praise him for that. He spared my life.
On my 31st birthday, I prayed that God would prune off pieces of our life that didn’t serve our family best. God said yes. The same day, Food Network called us and bailed out on our television series. He spared us much heartache of life in the public eye.
On my 34th birthday, I prayed that the life of my friend’s daughter would be spared. God said no. I don’t understand why and the pain of the loss still stings our hearts and community.
And yet I’ve learned that yes and no are both answers and both are to be trusted. Because even when the body grieves, the heart is never left to grieve without hope.
On my 40th birthday, I know that life will not follow a straight line, but I also know that God will continue to be faithful. He will not leave his sheep to wander alone in the pasture; he is the Good Shepherd, there to show us where the richest verdant pastures are. I trust him deeply — even when it hurts, even when I don’t understand, and even when it costs me; when I can’t make sense of life, it is sufficient to be in his presence.
I wouldn’t return to youth for all the money in the world.
A life spent with my Lord is worth far more.
Here’s to 40! And praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Love,
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