Thirty Eight

Your love goes on.

Your love goes on.

We sang “Love Goes On” by Hillsong Young & Free yesterday in church. I’ve listened to the Y&F album so many times that I could sing the entire thing with my eyes closed. I was overcome by the reminder of His faithfulness. He’s been so good to me. Standing there singing those words and thinking about getting another year older … it about did me in.

The older I get, the more emotional I am on my birthday. Since becoming a mother, I can hardly even think about my own mom and how she must’ve felt that day without tears coming to my eyes.

I can remember the day I turned 16 vividly. I remember what I wore (oversized shirt and bike shorts. I’d be embarrassed except I think maybe it’s coming back. So maybe I was just ahead-of-my-time cool), what my friends and I did (went bowling). That my BFF at the time wrote all over the windows of my new-to-me Acura Integra with shoe polish. That I got my driver’s license that very morning. I don’t have to remember the weather, because June 30 in East Texas meant it was hot and muggy.

And somehow—POOF—here I am. Age 40 within spitting distance.

But these days taste sweet.


My life looks nothing how I imagined it. I always thought I’d be the stay-at-home, room-mom. Making friends with neighbors and nursing my babies, a whole slew of them. I saw myself spending summers like my mom spent the summers of my childhood—laying on a pool chair next to her best friend/next-door-neighbor smelling like suntan lotion drinking Tab.

I never saw a decade+ of singleness. I never saw infertility. I never saw adoption. I never saw working motherhood. I certainly never saw Minnesota.

We dream, but the Lord plans.

He took my brokenness. My nothingness. He took the scattered pieces of my poor choices and he weaved them all together for my good.

I was lost, BUT GOD found me.

I am a sinner, BUT GOD redeemed me.

I am barren, BUT GOD made me a mother.

I can’t, BUT GOD can.

Jesus didn’t come just to save us from an eternity without God, but to save us to LIVE. To get our hands dirty and bring about life, healing, restoration. To build and rebuild. To commune. To love one another. To worship.

I am perfectly imperfect. I mess up daily, but if at the end of my life—whether that be today at age 38 or in 60 more years—I have done those things, I will consider it a life well lived.

Here’s to another year of trying.