I’ve never been one for adopting a “word of the year"—not because I’m opposed to the idea, but because I usually forget my assigned word. But when Jen Fulwiler’s Word Generator spit this out for me…

…I knew there was something to it.

Fall has ominous overtones. No one likes to fall down, and the word is visually too close to fail for comfort. But the two words have different etymologies: the first is Germanic, the second Latinate, and their Proto-Indo-European roots are different. To fall is not to fail—not when the landing is exactly where we need to be.

The past several days have been rough. Parenting struggles, author struggles, and mental health struggles have converged into a perfect storm, and I would be lying if I said I was handling it well. No, I owe a visit to my old friend, Mr. Confessional. He’s always happy to see me, even if I’m not always happy to see him.

Molteni Giuseppe, La confessione. Wikimedia Commons.

“I do not understand my own actions,” St. Paul says in his letter to the Romans. “For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (7:15). Not only am I powerless over other people and external circumstances, but I am powerless over my own carnality.

I cannot fix others. I can’t even fix myself.

But as St. Paul teaches and as we hear echoed in many places, powerlessness has a paradoxical relationship to hope. Powerlessness is the pivot point between willfulness and willingness. Almighty God can and does work miracles in my life, but He waits for my permission. God is a gentleman; He does not force Himself upon those who do not want Him. He will let me flounder until I realize I need Him. And when I do—when I fall—He works His miracles.

This is 40. Happy birthday to me.

Forty Thoughts for Forty Years

1. Forty feels like twenty-five, but with creaky, achy hip joints.

2. I used to think that turning forty would come with guru rights, that I would have accumulated a sufficient store of wisdom and would finally be old enough for people to take me seriously. Still waiting on my Guru Card to arrive…maybe it’s lost in the mail…can’t trust USPS these days…

3. I suppose now would be a good time to start living memento mori.

4. Does every forty-year-old drink two pots of coffee a day?

5. My skin and hair are starting to go the way of all flesh. My blonde hair hides grey strands well, and its coarse thickness hides the thinning spots. But my wrinkles and creases are far more obvious. Thank you, bad English genes.

6. I’ve come to realize that I will never read all the books on our bookshelves. I’m okay with that.

7. Corollary: Neither do I need to read to impress other people, though sometimes I still think I do.

8. “Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity…”

9. I just discovered and opened my birthday card from my husband and parents. They are gifting me a writing retreat. I may have teared up. Thanks, hon. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

10. Breakfast conversations: I brought up the loss of youth. My husband countered with the observation that I’m now coming into my own.

11. I married a good man.

12. I’ve been giving some thought to continuing education. I’m not exactly twiddling my thumbs here; between writing, editing, and parenting, going back to school would be impossible at present. Yet I wonder if I would benefit from more formal instruction. And if so, in what? Reread the Great Books? (My alma mater, St. John’s, is now offering their masters program online.) Pursue an MFA? Professional editing? Take some undergraduate history classes on Hope College’s dime? (Thank you, faculty benefits.)

13. Conversely, would school be a prime example of Resistance, per Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art?

14. My childhood: LPs and cassettes, Carebears, Rainbow Brite, the Smurfs, Mario Bros. and Duck Hunt, the Babysitters Club, Coke bottle glasses, crying every time a boy teased me with, “Help Me, Rhonda.”

15. My middle school years: soccer sandals and scrunched-up crew socks, Hootie and the Blowfish, feeling awkward. 

16. My high school years: the INTERNET (!), flared jeans, thick-soled shoes, First Church of God youth group, The Depot Cafe, high school newspaper, AP History, Jane Austen, “Isn’t it ironic? Don’t you think?,” track and field, Dawson’s Creek, feeling awkward.

17. My college years: Great Books, discovering that I never learned how to read, waltz parties, prodigal daughter come home.

18. Not to start an argument, but…Gen Y is the best generation.

19. My cousin, who is six weeks younger than me, already has two grandchildren.

20. Letting that sink in…

21. The older I grow, the less birthdays are about me. The person who comes first to mind is my mother. I was a ten-pound baby with a big head. She is five foot two. I nearly killed her.

22. Speaking of…  

23. To NFP or not to NFP, that is the question. THIS IS MY LAST SHOT, PEOPLE.

24. Is it a question?

25. Apparently?

26. #Problems

27. “‘I know your works, your toil and your patient endurance, and how you cannot bear evil men but have tested those who call themselves apostles but are not, and found them to be false; I know you are enduring patiently and bearing up for my name’s sake, and you have not grown weary. But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first…’” (Rev. 2:2-4).

28. Until the last decade, my parents struggled to make ends meet. My mother-in-law worked three jobs. My husband and I own a small-but-lovely old home, two vehicles in good shape, and we have an emergency fund. We aren’t living the high life, but neither do we lack for anything. Our children do not know what financial struggle looks like. In its stead, I pray we teach them simplicity, frugality, and generosity.

29. If I never eat canned vegetables again, I will die a happy woman.

30. I’ve misplaced (lost?) my ability to enjoy movies. The medium overwhelms me—too intense a sensory experience, too taxing to my imagination. My brain can hold only so many stories at one time. Between the books I’m writing, the books I’m editing, the books I’m acquiring, and the books I’m reading, I’ve reached the point of gluttony. Anything else and I might vomit.

31. My ADHD has gotten worse with age.

32. I like hugs from my babes.

33. I also enjoy coffee talk (Kawfee Tawk) with my friends.

34. I used to be an excellent housekeeper. Now, I’m lucky that things are sanitary. My five children are expert house destroyers, and I have more important things to do than clean up after them.

35. After sixteen years of marriage, I’ve almost learned how to disagree with my husband and be okay with it.

36.  Almost.

37. I may buy a hat—a real hat, a churchgoing hat. Why? Because I’m forty and I can do things like wear hats, if I so please. Who’s going to stop me?

38. A straw cloche to start? A 1920s/30s-style hat would complement my bobbed hair.

39. Maybe I’ll buy some vintage-inspired shoes to match. Again, who’s going to stop me? Current fashion dictates I pull my high school wardrobe out of storage… been there, done that, no desire to go back. Embracing middle-age with middle-aged style!

40. Raising my coffee cup to forty blessed years. Here’s to many more.