So I turned 28 last month. Yup, 30 is just around the corner. And actually, I’m thrilled. You heard me right. I am loving this season of life. Last night I watched 13 Going on 30 and it only confirmed again that I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to be 13 again, or 17 or even 21. My tumultuous adolescence is behind me and this past year I shook the proverbial sand of those years off my shoes and embarked on a new era.
More than one person has told me that 30 was a major turning point for them. The puzzle pieces just seemed to fall into place. No, they didn’t have the answers to life but they did have peace about not having those answers. Well, I think my puzzle came together over the past year and rather than waking up one day and realizing that something had changed, the difference dawned on me slowly over the past few months. If I were to get a tattoo tomorrow it might say something like, “I am who I am”. Funny that it took me nearly 27 years to discover that truth and then to begin leaning into it, breathing deeply the assurance that comes with knowing that who I am is enough. Maybe even more than enough. I am loved by the Creator, unconditionally, just as I am. That’s enough, more than enough. The love that is lavished on me by my family and friends is like icing on the cake. It brings tears to my eyes to think of how blessed I am to receive such a daily outpouring of love. But it is also incredibly comforting to know that if I somehow lost all of it, I would still be held in the arms of Someone Greater. What more can I ask for? Nothing. Nothing more than this.
With this discovery, and many more revelations than I can possibly write here, I have learned to care a little better for me. To say no. To set boundaries. I’m working on being still and listening, really listening before opening my own mouth. (Granted, I am definitely still learning this practice because there are too many moments to count where I talk before I should.) Here’s an example of my new found maturity: this past weekend we had a birthday dinner with friends scheduled for Saturday night and I was supposed to get together for lunch with a good friend that morning. A year or two ago I would have powered through the nasty cold I had and simply hosted the event and attended the lunch. Yes, I probably would have been miserable but for some reason I would have felt it necessary, imperative to fulfill those commitments. As hard as it was to decline the luncheon and call up all our friends to cancel the dinner, I did it and afterwards there was such relief. I could curl up in my sweats and nurse my cold. I could nap all afternoon and drink gallons of tea with honey and lemon. I left my house only once this weekend, for groceries. This may not seem that incredible to you dear reader, but for me this was a small milestone. I said no. I backed out of plans. Unheard of for me. Slowing my pace of life has become very important because running at full speed means that so many of the little moments are lost in the blur.
Last weekend, while on a brief get-away with B, I forgot my phone at home. There was definitely panic. A lot of panic actually in the airport when I realized that I had left my life sitting on my desk at work in my rush to get out the door. So now I have an entire weekend undocumented by photos or social media. I’m still a little sad that I don’t have any pictures from the weekend but after the initial heart attack, I actually really loved being phone-less (and internet-less). Luckily I was in my hometown of Portland so I didn’t feel crippled without my handy Google maps app. B pointed out that since I am usually on my phone twice as much as he is, it was nice to have my undivided attention. (he said this in the most loving way possible and it was a good reminder that people are SO much more important than technology) I came back from that trip and haven’t felt nearly as pressed to be online 24/7. Perhaps this is another lesson in living life by being present for the moments occurring all around me and if I spend most of my time staring at a screen then I miss those extraordinarily modest, every day happenings that unfold and vanish in the blink of an eye.
So welcome 28th year. I look forward to all that you hold. And welcome to whatever this is, growing up? maturity? self-realization? or maybe just a settling in.
Welcome home me to myself…and the voice inside me whispers “we’ve been waiting for you to return to yourself. we’re so glad you are finally here.”
Forgiveness
Forgiveness.
Such an easy word to roll off the tongue.
Such a hard word to practice on a daily basis.
Forgiving, I have learned, is not about being someone’s doormat. It is not about sweeping all the pain and hurt another caused you under a figurative carpet and pretending nothing ever went wrong. Forgiveness doesn’t automatically mean you trust again or that you will even put yourself in the same situation or be around that person any more. Forgiveness doesn’t mean you sacrifice yourself on some alter and subject yourself again (and again) to more of the same hurt.
Forgiving is healing more for the one offering it than perhaps it is for the one on the receiving end. Forgiveness is a letting go of the past and embracing the future. Forgiveness means harboring no ill-will or bitterness. Forgiveness cleanses the soul and banishes the toxic poison that anger can become. Anger most certainly has its place but left too long wallowing in it and one day you find that it has morphed into something that is choking out joy in your life. Forgiveness, once given, provides the giver with fresh eyes and a new perspective towards the situation and person you’ve forgiven. Often times, I find that forgiving releases me to love someone deeper, to see their brokenness and to hope for change and growth in them. The act of forgiving forces me to stop being so selfish. And usually it drives me to my knees in prayer, in tears, with a broken and contrite heart because
forgiving is so hard.
And what I find so crazy is that forgiveness is not a one time act that solves everything. In fact, in most cases forgiveness has to happen multiple times. For the same situation. What’s up with that? And when is it finally over? When does “The End” happen? When is that chapter closed? That’s what I really want to know. Because sometimes things and persons that have been forgiven and I figure are “non-issues” just show up, unannounced on my doorstep, and take me by complete surprise and I am thrown into a tailspin, forced to confront the wound that has scabbed over a bit but now appears to be oozing again. And then sometimes I lose my cool in those moments.
The truth is, forgiveness does not make everything disappear. Healing does not mean that there aren’t scars. Since when did any one expect a large and nasty gash, when healed, to not leave some small mark? So why do I assume then that healing on a relational or emotional or spiritual level means that I should be whole, perfect and unblemished? Forgiving is not plastic surgery. I still bear the marks of past wounds. The difference is that, for the most part, they’re not open and raw anymore.
I find that in recent years I am much quicker to forgive, and forgive again, than when I was younger. This is good. It speeds up the repair process and I don’t wake up weeks, months, years later and realize that I am still harboring bad feelings for someone or some situation. So forgiveness is something that we learn to practice and take it from me, I don’t think it comes naturally to many of us. Still, I can feel the warmth that seeps into the marrow of my bones when I have offered forgiveness and I can feel the light piercing places of darkness so I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is a practice I want to continue to learn.
Oh sweet balm of forgiveness, heal the wounds. Bring about restoration and wholeness. And I ask for the courage to turn again (and again and again and again) to face the pain and offer this olive branch of peace to others.
Personal
emotion
life