Bits for Sunday, April 13, 2008

Well, the great countdown is upon us…starting tomorrow. One month until I cross the bridge from being twenty-something to being thirty. I am genuinely excited. I love celebrations and have decided, rather than to dread this impending over-the-hillness, to just embrace it and have as much fun with it as I possibly can.

Earlier today I updated my lovely layout here with a baby picture from my tinier days and a countdown banner to keep track of just how many days I have to go until the ultimate party day arrives. I looked at that picture of me in my little dedication dress…and I thought about the adventures of these years…adventures that I knew nothing about when I was propped up against the photography rug, smiling through some drool.

I think about that sometimes when I watch my friends’ kids. I see their little personalities start to pop out and I wonder what they’ll be like as adults…how will they grow and change? What things will impassion them and what things will make them giggle and cry and blush? What lives will surround theirs and what paths will they choose to walk to leave their footprints in the world?

My parents probably didn’t expect that little Drooley in a dedication gown would grow up to be a girl who tries to find the perfect blend of sarcasm, humor, and deep contemplation. A girl who drags a camera everywhere to capture any possible moment and glue it in a scrapbook. A girl whose idea of a journal is a massive hardcover book that gets to hold the memories of everything from ultimate humiliation to complete joy to “this-would-only-happen-to-you” ridiculousness. A girl who hates getting up in the morning no matter what enticing day stretches out ahead, but will stay up until 2 in the morning to cry over a sappy movie or bake chocolate chip cookies and resist getting sleepy for fear she might miss something exciting if she calls it a day.

I’ve exhausted my parents to some extent, I’m sure. But of course, giving birth in their forties probably made that a given. I listened to a tape earlier this weekend…Mom “interviewed” me on my fifth birthday, and I wore me out just listening to the tape. It’s just an audio recording, so you can’t see…but I am sure I was bouncing all over that room while she was trying to pull out of me important information like my favorite color (to which I answered “Red, just like it always is”) and my favorite food (“pizza” – which I had probably only eaten twice in my entire life at that point). I distinctly remember exasperating both of them with my “I will find this penny in my checkbook if it’s the last thing I do before I die” attitude in high school. And even now, just as they’re curling up for a long night’s rest, they’ll groan at my news of “Well I’m off to start cleaning the house” or some other craziness to be starting at 11 p.m.

In the last 30 years I’ve desired every possible career path from zookeeper to secretary to pastor’s wife to teacher to nurse to….financial aid counselor? Hmmm. I think that one just found me. I’ve had a number of hair colors and styles, and yet they accepted me as a daughter with each one – even as Ronald McDonald’s love child and bangs that required more hairspray than the family budget could afford. (These were not simultaneous do’s, you understand. Thankfully.)

They carted me to and from babysitting jobs prior to my license-holding years. Dad even drove all the way to one of the jobs when I called in a panic that I’d overloaded the toilet with baby wipes after one of the kids had an illness-induced diaper blowout and I didn’t know what to do. (It’s truly a wonder I made it this far into adulthood, now that I think about it.) They lived through dozens…hundreds?...of crushes and my cries of “but if I don’t marry him, I’ll just die” – assuring me with pats on the back that I would in fact, NOT die. And so far they’ve been right.

Yes, if they’d known all of this (and more) that 30 years ahead of them would entail when they stood over to the side and watched Drooley smile at the photographer, they might have sneaked out a side door and run for their lives.

But they didn’t, and I came home and managed to grow up and make it out on my own for lo these many years…and now I’m excited to look ahead to untold adventures to come.

This month I’m reading a book by Nancie Carmichael called Desperate for God. She writes about prayer and how a person’s prayer life can follow the stages of life itself…from infancy to youth to middle age to maturity. In her section on infancy, she writes this, which reminded me that regardless of how old I’m getting in real life, and how far behind me those childhood years get, I need to hang onto a bit of that innocence in my prayer life: “We come as children, pouring out to Him the essence of who we are – confessing our sin, our weakness. And as we grow to know Him more, our prayers take on different dimensions. But primarily, it is important to be very simple, very honest in prayer, calling out to Him from who and where we are, believing that He hears us.”

That’s something I learned as a child (somewhere in between drooling and driving) and I hope to never forget.