It’s interesting. This whole getting older thing each year.
Last month I turned 33, much to my chagrin and attempts at avoiding calling it that. I prefer to celebrate the anniversary of my 25th, have for years. The 25th birthday was one for the memory books…and thankfully I hadn’t joined Facebook at that point. (Yes kids, there was a time when everyone wasn’t on there!) That year I decided was the pinnacle of birthdays. Nothing could get beyond that in the phenomenal stature and gathering that it held.
Then I turned 33.
Actually I approached turning 33 with some forethought and contemplation on life. More specifically my own life. Especially the last few years. The journey to step out and apply to work at a dream college. Moving to a city I had loved from afar for many years. Finding exactly where my definition came from instead of drifting along in it. Buying my first home. Exploring writing from my own perspective seriously.
I joked around the last week of 32 with #feeling32. I was, feeling 32 that is. Feeling what that meant in my skin. What that meant as I looked long into 33. That’s when I realized this next year of life (now 11 months and some change) will have a markedly different tone. One that I desire, through prayer and focus, to be about Jesus.
What better way than in my 33rd year? Instead of focusing backward, or even too far forward, but instead in this year. This Year of Jesus. My Jesus Year. So I ask you come along sometimes with me in this journey. As I explore. As I write. As I fall. As I stand back up. As I seek God first in all things.