Today I turn 30.
And like the soft bed of fresh Colorado powder I joyfully collapsed onto this morning, there’s a certain ease about falling into my 30s. I feel gently supported and bathed in divine light. I am, quite simply, delighted to be here.
You see, a few months ago, I didn’t know if I’d make it to this day. I got well-acquainted with my mortality thanks to two pulmonary embolisms that left me gasping for breath during a couple of anxiety-filled weeks in early November. Pinpointing the problem led to a diagnosis of a genetic blood-clotting syndrome and the accompanying regimen of anticoagulant medications and blood tests.
While the acute emergency has passed, I’m only just getting acquainted with my body in this new chapter. I’m learning to listen closely to what she needs, and to respond with tender care. I’m learning to pay more attention to what my body tells me, than to the white supremacist narrative of perfectionism that demands achievement at all costs. My body reminds me that I am human. That I am in a constant state of change. And, that I am very good, because God made me for goodness, and my body experiences goodness in this exquisite, messy world in so many ways.
It feels good to fall into my fragile, lovely humanity. It is freeing to surrender all that I cannot control and breathe deeply of the grace of Almighty God. You’ll notice I said “freeing,” not “easy” — I try to wrest back control all. the. time. After all, surrender and suffering know each other well. I don’t like suffering any more than the next person, and it’s my autopilot setting to avoid it. But the experiences of the last three decades — particularly this last year — have been instructive. I’m coming to believe — in my body — that one must encounter suffering face to face in order to receive the grace that is available when one entrusts oneself to God.
As I enter my 30th year, I see that I have indeed grown in willingness to walk through life with hands held open. Open to let go of that which does not serve. Open to receive the gift of myself, the gift of the Other, the gift of the present moment. Open, especially, to God.
In this new chapter of being human in the fragile, holy body I’ve been entrusted to care for, I hope to keep falling into trust:
trust in the still, small voice of Spirit inside of me;
trust in my body to tell me when something is wrong, and even more so, when something is good, pleasurable, and holy;
trust in my community to help me slow down, tap into joy, claim what is mine and share what is not, and keep on keeping on, because we never fall alone.
I hope for you also, that you would know yourself fragile and holy, ever-transforming yet irrepressibly good. In your falling, may you be bathed in light and filled with the delight of knowing that in all things, you are supported by the very Spirit of love.