Tomorrow I’ll be 34. Today if you’re reading this on Friday.
And in those 34 years there are some things I’ve yet to grasp.
Like how to get that perfect messy bun that looks cute and whimsical without somehow crossing the line into ratted and messy, sprigs of hair sprouting from the nest of some unfettered creature. Pinterest has tutorials and apparently a lot of time and effort goes into the effortless look, much like the no makeup look is really the hardest to perfect because no makeup at all looks like you just woke up after a pretty hard night. But the no makeup look, when applied right, is supposed to leave one looking fresh-faced and dewy, reminiscent of youth and vitality and really good skin tone.
But those things aside, I have grasped some things in these 34 years.
I am wholly made to be loved by God. I grasp at grace with weak hands, but hold firm in my faith, knowing that I’ve seen His face and I can’t ever truly forget no matter how weak my eyes seem.
I am in love with my husband. Not because he is perfect or I am but because we work hard at this staying in love stuff. Because he is a gift crafted for my by God’s hands to complement me and break me. To refine the parts that jut up against his and tangle in the fray and rub smooth worn and polished over the years.
I am a good mother. This title, thrust on me, so unworthy and unwise, was the greatest blessing. In it you have undone me. Wrecked me in a way that my knees go weak in prayer and my heart thrums with the desire for God’s holiness poured out on them. That my children would walk with Him, and that I may be the mother who leads them on the path. Nothing else but the very heart of motherhood has made me seek Him more for the grace to do this job well.
I am a writer. Not because of analytics, or tweets, or followers, but because God has given me a voice and I can’t stay silent. He is writing my story and the pages fill with words of wounds healed, trials weathered, and faith restored. Every why? of my youth, every cry of frustration and wound of those sin scraped years is being redeemed. I wrap these letters and offer them as praise to Him. The author and the perfector.
So I may never sport that messy bun, though I’ll never stop trying because it’s so stinking cute on those Pinterest girls, I can say that 34 years have been well spent in His perfect timing.
You know the drill. Prompt: Grasp, 5 minute free write where you just let the words go where they want and then you link and love on the other bloggers there. It’s a great community. Won’t you join in with your 5 minutes over at Lisa Jo’s?