On Being 20...For the Last Time

Turning 29 -- I'm told -- is actually worse than turning 30. 29 is the oldest year of your 20s, whereas 30 is the very bottom of your 30s. Yeah, I don't really buy it either. At 29, I'm in my last year of quasi-youth (and quickly losing it).

At the same time, I certainly will not miss the decade of much self-imposed angst, drama and general confusion about my identity. You enter your 20s thinking you have it all figured out with a nice laundry list of goals to achieve by the big 3-0. You leave them realizing you are probably just about starting adulthood. Career path: uncheck. Life's calling: uncheck. Marriage: uncheck. Prospects: TBD.

But according to Psalm 139, my whole life was intimately mapped out for me before I was even born. And I can proudly say as I enter my 30th year of life, that that makes me breathe a nice big sigh of relief. It means I don't have to give in to the sex-and-power-driven rules this world abides by -- and meanwhile, the possibilities of where laundry-list items 1-4 can go are endless. As I read meaningful notes written to me from a few close friends today, I felt one thing only: grateful. Grateful I made it through another year without giving in, grateful to have real friendships that have withstood some pretty hard times, grateful that my life with God gives me a future with hope as I've seen hope crumble over many others' terrible 20s. I'm less in control than I've ever been...and it feels great.


Me clinging for dear life on a Sit 'n' Spin. Things can only go up from here.