Happy Birthday to me.

I don't know that I have the words to write this but something deeper compels me. Ernest Hemingway wrote "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a type writer and bleed." I suppose that is what you are about to witness.

Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 27 years old and tonight I sat with my little sister and a few friends as we talked about who we would be if we had never come to know Christ. If we had no faith what would our lives look like. It was an interesting and heavy conversation to have on my birthday. A day that begs me to evaluate my life and consider what I am. We each slowly realized that the mistakes that we made in life would have continued and potentially left far deeper impacts on our lives. We agreed that none of us would be here and above all else we all agreed that our lives would be full of despair and hopelessness. I was labeled "a force to be reckoned with" and I can only imagine what that means in the minds of the girls that surrounded me tonight. For me it meant all the cruelty and malice that I have in my heart would surface. All the evil that hides in the dark corners of my heart would find reason to come alive. For me it meant that I would be less kind, less considerate and far to certain of myself. For me it is not a reality I wish to see for myself. It is not who I ever want to be. However, something else happened with this conversation.

I found gratitude. The truth is I am 27 years old and have little to show for myself. Granted I am harsh on myself with what I have expected of myself up till now. If I were to show you the list of expectations I had for myself by age 27 you would stare in wonder at why I ever thought that was reasonable. You most likely would consider me insane and that is okay. I am single, I have no "prospects" I work a job where I attempt to help people and doubt constantly my effectiveness at it. I don't make much money and I am attempting to buy a home, which daily is a struggle that I am just as likely to fail at as I am to succeed. I am not doing what I always planned to do. For all intents and purposes I have failed. Yet that is not what my hope is grounded in. Worldly standards and accomplishments as well as my own list of wildly ridiculous standards mean nothing in life of my hope. Certainly someone else could be better at my job but I have the joy and privilege to walk along side lives as they heal and grow. It is beautiful to see. I get to see those created from clay find wholeness (though it breaks my heart daily when they do not understand the wholeness they can have) I have friends that love me dearly and I would give all of my life's blood for. I have family that can never be replaced and are worth more than my very breath to me. I have hope.

Beyond all of that I have the hope of a world beyond this one. My citizenship is in heaven and this world is not my home. I have the hope of a savior who gave his life blood for me so that this hope can be everlasting. So yes I have lived 27 years of my short life and I don't have near what I thought to show for those years but the hope I have out weighs my standard for accomplishments. I have walked along side a King and have been loved by him daily. I have followed him the very best I know how and I get to delight in the love that he lavishes on me. My life is beautiful and precious. It is a mystery that unfolds day by day, it is a journey that is simple and mundane but epic in its complexities. I am delighted with my life because of the hope I have.

So no I am not a force to be reckoned with. I am sure that I am that girl somewhere in my soul and I do not doubt the cruelty that hides in the darkest parts of my soul. I catch glimpses of that girl from time to time and my fear is that others see her as well. That part of me is twisted from a long, hard, dark fall from beauty forgiveness and grace. A fall I was never present for but bear the consequences of. That part of me is most often referred to by others as "my flesh". She is a sad girl that doesn't understand the light that loves her. She is a lost girl that longs for that same light even though it denies her so many of her desires. Even those darkest parts of me understand that something is not right and longs for the pure warm light of day. All that I am even the parts weak, sick and wounded by the fall cry for my saviour and he does not disappoint. He is not impressed by my accomplishments. He cares little about degrees, travels or income. He longs only for my heart and my heart is wholly his. At least I long for it to be. That too is a daily battle but the longing remains. "And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ" Phil 1:6 so "let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful." Hebrews 10:23