Forty

Forty is one of those stop and take stock moments. Sounds cliche and a bit like something everyone who’s turned 40 says. I’m pretty sure every milestone after 20 has its own poignancy actually. But 40 has felt like an accelerated run towards whatever future I’m working towards. And when I ponder the biggest and greatest lesson I’ve learned, I didn’t have to dig too deep. Why write a blog post about it? Good question. Probably mostly so I have something to look back on when I’m 50 which, coincidentally is most likely to be the next time I write a post. I admit writing here isn’t a regularity but it is something I enjoy doing. So, tip of the hat, future me!

I think I’ve had a relatively easy 30something years. Maybe that was sunny trip was there cushion me a bit and prep me for my latter thirties which felt a little more like a hurricane than breezy. Maybe my is forecast off. But needless to say a number of weather fronts combined in a perfect storm that ripped through my world much like a twister a few years back.

But I remember in the deepest darkest moments taking stock of what I had in my world that remained constant in an ever-evolving torrent of negatives and unimaginables. And that thing was my hope that Jesus is who He said He was… and is. It might sound like buzzwords, safety nets or escapism. But it’s far from all of those things. In fact, they became more real to me than they ever have before.

I remember at the lowest having a choice, always a choice. Trust in Jesus or trust in me. One the one hand to trust in the things I forged and created for myself. Trust in the theories and mechanisms that had, in part, got me into the mess I’d found myself in. Trust that the storm that raged around me was insurmountable and I was defeated. Or, on the other hand, trust Jesus. Trust that a regularly overlooked belief system actually houses the biggest truth and lesson for us all. And in those moments I’m so glad I trusted Jesus.

I liken it to a man standing on a tiny platform in the dark (spoiler; the man is me). It’s a high platform and there’s darkness around me. Hanging down to me are lifelines and ropes. You know, much like those tree vines in Avatar. For years I’ve held onto as many of them as possible. Each strand a juggle and responsibility and, yeah, a safety net for my stability on that tiny platform. Well slowly but surely each one of those strands broke. I was left with a few weak strands that I actually felt I was holding up, rather than they holding me. But then there was one other cord. A hanging vine that shines brighter and stronger than any other. Jesus. But his strand was just a little too far to reach from where I stood. With no strong vines to hold onto where I was, in order to grab His strand – I’d have the reach. And it’s the sort of reach that doesn’t have a backup plan. It doesn’t lean as far as it can from where it’s coming from. It has to be a leap. It has to be a letting go and jumping forward to grab that strand.

It’s a tension and a risk to take the leap. But I’ve found when we are at our most lowest point, we have less tying us to the platform we’re planted on. So in the midst of the storm that would make me or break me, I didn’t choose me – I chose to take the leap of faith. And the metaphor breaks down here because it was at a grab of the strand and second my feet left my platform, it was no longer a strand but the embrace of a loving God who instantly and deeply held me. It was no longer about me holding Him but everything about Him holding me.

I won’t ever let go of that embrace. I’ve known Jesus for a long time but in more recent years He became more real and more evident in just about every area of my life. The years that followed were unbelievable. While I still see the progression and what He’s doing, I’d be lying if I said there aren’t harder seasons, if there isn’t sadness and grief along the way of healing. But healing is an understatement.

The things I’ve learned and seen in the last few years alone astound me because I can’t plot the course of how I have miraculously got here. Am I perfectly healed now? No. Do I have my life together now? Absolutely not. But I’m no longer gathering fickle cords on a tiny platform. I’m held in the arms of the one who was there the whole time and was just waiting for me to let go of my strands and leap into His embrace where he holds all the strands anyway.

It’s funny, I thought I knew the way Grace worked. But the truth is, I didn’t have the faintest idea. I haven’t earned where I am, I can’t facilitate those blessings He’s given me. The last six months in my thirties have been a further acceleration of things I couldn’t possibly have imagined. Blessings beyond my wildest dreams and certainly not anything I’ve earned. And one of those blessings has been someone God brought into my life. I don’t really say much online about my personal life, partly because I’m private (he says, through a blog), and partly because I’m learning that joy doesn’t always need explaining. But I do want to say this. She has been a gift of kindness, patience, and steady encouragement. She’s the kind of person who will pray with me, challenge me gently, and remind me that Jesus is still the anchor when emotions get loud. I’m grateful for her, and I’m grateful to the God who still writes new chapters when you think the book has ended.

And I know that these blessings would never have been here if I hadn’t made the choice to leap. So when I look back and say ‘Hey, remember what it was like to turn 40?’ this is the lesson I will tell myself. If I could brand this season – and any season. Keep leaping. Keep stepping out of my strands and platforms, and grab onto the one that counts. Jesus.