I turned 33 on Monday.
There’s a morbid, sort of irreverent joke that some clergy friends will say to each other about this particular year: It’s the year that Jesus died. It’s a terrible joke, actually.
I’m not sure why I bring that up. It’s a strange way to think about a year that will be full of so many wonderful things. I guess I could make an attempt to find some connections – there’s a lot of dying to myself this year, lots of sacrifice, and such. Ahhhhgggghhh this is not good thinking or writing. Anyways, as I look back on my 32nd year, and all the incredible moments and experiences – the babies being one of them, and of course, the biggest one – I can only wonder what this next year will bring, and expect so much more. Even in the midst of so many levels of stress, I still feel hopeful. How can I look at this sweet face and not feel happy and hopeful???
(Even if just a few moments before she was screaming her head off…?)