On turning 25.
I've only been 25 for a week and half now, so believe me when I say I'm still in the recovery stages of the trauma *laughing but crying.* And I laugh because yes it's silly and dramatic, and yes it's just a number, and no I'm not actually scared of getting older. But this birthday got me you guys.
I run to my friend, "But am I still thriving? Am I still living my best life?" And she lists the ways I have my life together (so says the world) followed up by the "BUT THOSE AREN'T WHAT MATTER" truth. Which is the trait of a good, life-giving kind of friend. She's right. And I knew it already but being this side of heaven means we need all the reminders until our hearts can catch up. Until our hearts learn how to beat to the rhythm of truth, and not to the fleeting march of more, younger, richer, more, prettier, better, more...
I shared my peace on Instagram. Although it was still raw enough that it didn't feel like the settled foundation I could stand on yet. But it was, and isn’t that faith? Trusting the Father whether we’re ready or not. So I've been praying that same prayer over and over and it's slowly tearing the edges of that flimsy pride of mine:
"I don't have to question the purpose of these days or the direction of my steps because the anthem of my soul remains the same: JESUS IS BETTER. And getting older in a way that shows my Savior as the all-satisfying treasure that he is, is a holy pursuit wrapped in all the grace I could ever need."
Can I link my arms with you? Because young or old this Kingdom work was meant to be done together. And one day I'm going to be actuallyyy old and not just the mid-life crisis old, and I’ll need to be reminded of truth just the same. Shoulder to shoulder, I'll promise to try and be the friend who reminds you too.
And as an almost ok with being 25-year-old, I say to this AMEN?! AMEN.