33

Today I turned 33!

Birthdays are kind of a funny thing, aren’t they? They’re technically just another day, yet they can also hold a lot of significance. As I get older, I’ve noticed that birthdays tend to feel less exciting but more meaningful. 

As a child, birthdays meant parties with friends, presents, and whatever cake I wanted.

As a teenager it meant another year older and another privilege earned.

In college it meant staying up too late and drinking too much.

In my twenties my birthday felt like a measuring stick—have I accomplished what I was “supposed to” by 22, 25, 29?

Now, in my thirties, I view my birthday mostly as an opportunity to pause. I love that it comes at the end of the year because it feels like a marker of sorts, a stopping point where I can reflect on the previous year and look forward to the one to come.

This year, I can’t help but think of the little one we lost, who will never have a birthday with us here on earth. Is it a mercy to avoid the turmoil of life, or is the gift in the living? I don’t know. 

I’ve also been thinking about baby Cece and wondering where she will spend her first birthday next year. Will she still be with us? Will she be back with her bio family or somewhere else altogether? Again, I don’t know.

And maybe that’s what I’ve learned the most this past year—how much I truly do not know. I’ve experienced joy and sorrow, loss and gain, and all of it requires a courageous trust in the unknown. Faith in what we cannot see. It takes bravery to sit with the Mystery, especially in the midst of pain, and still say, I trust You. 

I used to think that by my thirties, I would have everything all figured out and packaged up in a nice tidy bow. But now I’m here, and it feels like I’m only just beginning to learn.