Children make you old. Not a complaint, just an observation. When my Dad would call me on my birthday (the years he remembered it was my birthday), he would always ask how old I was. I always thought it was strange, he may have been joking, but it was the age of rotary or push button phones, and there was no way to actually see his face, so I continued to think this man who was responsible for bringing me into the world actually did forget how old I was. When I would tell him, he would go, “No, you can’t be that old! When did you get to be that old?” Each year, the same conversation.
Today, my first-born is 40. I have morphed into my father and sit wondering how she could be that age. It’s impossible, I think to myself. Must be a mistake in calculations, I try to convince myself. But, it’s not. 1979 subtracted from 2019 is 40. Ouch!
I remember my 40th birthday. I think it was yesterday. Actually, that took place in 1995. My oldest was a sophomore in high school, she was learning how to drive. Life was exciting for both of us. Her learning to drive and me learning how to not scream when she was behind the wheel! Ahh, sweet (?) memories!
Anyhow, fast (and by fast, I mean hyper-speed) forward 24 years and we arrive at this moment. She is now 40 and I am officially old. The years between have seen lots of laughter, even more tears, late night fears (more on my part than hers), and continual prayers. She is a lovely woman, full of grace and beauty. A loving wife, a caring mother and devoted to her family. She has grown into a woman who I aspire to be. She made me who I am today and for that, I am thankful.
Psalm 127:3 says, “Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from Him.” (NLT)
Thanks for stopping by today… Cathi (DAF)