Dear Friend,

From day one, I knew there was something special about you. We were kindred souls somehow.

I found out you were from Canada, took a couple glances at your husband, and proceeded to initiate our first conversation with the most absurd question ever. “You don’t happen to know who Ann Voskamp is, do you? Because your husband looks exactly like Ann’s husband. I thought there was a remote chance they’re brothers.”

Stupid, okay. What was the likelihood of me meeting my favorite writer’s brother-in-law thousands of miles away from home? 0% chance, I’d say. I don’t know what I was thinking. Sorry for the stupid question. Totally geeky, I know.

But I was onto something after all. Of course, your husband wasn’t Ann Voskamp’s brother! But you were fully aware of Ann and a huge fan of her writing. That connected us, like that, from day one. Without saying another word, we “got” each other, we understood, we both loved Ann’s writing and that’s all we needed to know.

Our friendship blossomed and we forged a friendship in six days. Six days total. That’s all the time we had. We ate dinners together. Conversed together. Asked hard questions together. Experienced beautiful moments together. Experienced GOD together. It was rich, life giving and life changing.

I’ll never, ever forget the day we sat in a circle and told stories and I felt like a fool telling my own. “This is just really important to me,” I sobbed. You put your hand on my leg, looked into my eyes with the deepest sincerity I’d ever seen, tilted your head in the kindest of ways, and said quietly “We love who you are.” I’m sure I cried some more. Only this time, I knew it was okay. Somebody understood. YOU understood. You got me.

We were kindreds.

Before we parted ways on the last day, we hugged and agreed to stay connected on Facebook. Then you handed me that infamous letter, the letter I didn’t read until later.

Yes, friend. You gave me two of the greatest gifts I’ve ever been given. First, the gift of feeling completely KNOWN, UNDERSTOOD and ACCEPTED for who I am. Second, the gift of the most beautiful letter I’ve ever received from a friend.

In it, you expressed the most endearing words. Words of truth. Words that spoke deeply to my heart. Words that mean the world to me.

I’ve kept that letter in my Bible for two years now. Folded with the beauty inside. Just as you handed it to me. Every month or two, I take it out and read it to remind myself WHO it was that YOU saw those six days. You saw the real me and you loved me. Thank you, friend.

I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again this side of heaven. But every now and then, you pop into my Facebook feed with your incredible words of love and encouragement, and I remember how amazing you were, how amazing you ARE.

Sisters are the best.

 

 

 

 

This is part of a month-long series on friendship titled Love Letters to Friends. To read the rest of the posts in the series, CLICK HERE and you’ll be directed to the series introductory post. Scroll to the bottom and you’ll find all the posts listed and linked for your reading pleasure.

Dear Friends,

I’ve been thinking about you for a long while now. I’ve meant to write, but I haven’t. For the most part, friendship is something I’ve stayed silent on for many years. But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been on my mind.

You see, I used to be good at friendship. Great in fact. Perhaps even excellent.

At two years old, I made my first friend. We remained close and loyal for many, many years. I’ll never forget Barb’s homemade pickles and sloppy joes at basement birthday parties and Christmas parties, family nights with the Meyer boys, stuffing our faces with Skittles, swimming lessons at the lake, boating, skiing, snowmobiling, driving, dances, musicals, prom, and Buster’s night club for teens. You name it, we did it.

In elementary school and junior high, I went through the standard friend routine. In and out of BFFs, invited to this sleepover, then that one, this birthday party, then that one. By high school, I got in a groove with a big circle of male and female friends, and two incredibly close girlfriends otherwise known as “the three pigs.” I had a boyFRIEND for two years, and was friends with everyone so much so that I was named homecoming queen my senior year. Yes, those were the good old days of friendship.

In college, I had no problem making and keeping a big and close set of friends. From day one, I made best friends with my roommate. We lived together for three years and developed an incredibly extensive network of friends. Add to that my boyfriend (now husband) who was in a fraternity, and my friends multiplied exponentially. I had an awesome circle of close girlfriends all throughout college, but also felt completely at home with my future husband’s fraternity brothers so much so that a group of us became known as the “Delt Girls.” In my last year of college, I ventured out into apartment life and made another awesome friend whose wedding I was in after we graduated. Friendship was easy. Friendship was good. Friendship was working.

After college, I got married. We moved 15 driving hours away from everyone we knew. I went to graduate school for two years straight. It was incredibly intellectually and emotionally challenging. I made friends in grad school, for sure. But I was distracted by the daily academic grind, and was one of the few married people in my class of 30. So I didn’t do as much socializing as others. I left grad school with friends. But for the most part, they all stayed in Indiana and Illinois. We moved back to Minnesota.

In those early days of married life back in Minnesota with no kids yet, we reconnected with friends from college and high school, and made new friends through work and church. We hosted parties, attended a bunch of weddings, ate at fancy restaurants, rocked the dance floor a bit, were invited to SuperBowl parties, and began participating in a weekly young married’s Bible study. Friendship wasn’t the same as it once was. There were early signs of friendships fading and changing. But for the most part, we were still rocking the friendship scene.

Our kids arrived in 2002, 2005 and 2011. Add to that our acquaintances, neighbors, co-workers, cousins and friends who had approximately 500 kids all together during that time frame? And voila. Kids change adult dynamics. Need I say more?

From 2004 to 2010, life was incredibly challenging. My sister’s battle with addiction and mental illness was all consuming. For me. For my husband and children. For my parents and brother. And of course, for my sister. I can look back now with clarity and say without a doubt that this is when friendship became really tough. I didn’t have time nor energy to do any friendships well. Many friendships began falling by the wayside. Many friendships lost their luster. And new friendships got off to a rocky start; they weren’t seeing the “real me” at all. I missed a lot of friend gatherings and get-togethers. I missed a lot of friends’ life-changing events, including premature babies, separations, divorces, illnesses, career changes and cross-country moves. The friends I did manage to maintain and develop during that period were incredibly gracious, but I’m sure they were incredibly overwhelmed by the constant barrage of updates, emergencies and prayer requests. It was relentless and impossible to keep everyone up to date all the time. And I felt like an annoyance when I did keep people up to date. Friendship was there, but it certainly wasn’t awesome or super healthy. We were in survival mode. I was in survival mode. Friendship was in survival mode.

Things changed. Things got better. My sister found a new normal. We found a new normal. Life went on and it was much better than it had been.

But if I’m completely honest, I’ve never fully recovered from that friendship survival mode.

I learned to make do. I learned to make it work. I began believing that friendship was fleeting, just okay. I began believing that friendship was the easiest thing to sacrifice when life got crazy, hectic and out of control. I began believing and saying out loud that maybe I was the kind of person who didn’t need a lot of close friends as an adult. I began seeing women do “girls weekends” and “girls nights out” and I just didn’t see myself as “that” person. (Still don’t, to be honest.) I began feeling more and more introverted when it came to women and friendship. I began feeling more and more vulnerable when I shared anything. I began to see myself as a liability to friendship rather than an asset. I began to worry that all I had to offer was my worry, my real, my raw serious STUFF, and all they had to offer was fun, love, and good times great STUFF. I began to doubt myself and my real contribution to any friend.

Yep. I never fully recovered from friendship survival mode.

The most true thing I could say right now is that I’m not really sure how to do friendship anymore. I don’t think I’m GOOD at friendship anymore. I’m not GREAT at it for sure. Yeah, I’m just not sure.

I’ve admittedly reclaimed some ground in the area of friendship since things settled a bit mid-late 2010. If you consider yourself a friend of mine, THANK YOU. I am incredibly grateful for who you are, and who you’ve been. You’ve been a friendship lifeline to me when I’d pretty much given up on friendship. You have given me hope and shown me glimpses of what’s possible – tears around the kitchen island, laughter at the lunch table, shared dreams and fears around hot tea and Diet Coke, and chatting while managing our gaggle of kids at Culver’s after church. 

But as much as I’m grateful, as much as I’ve desperately needed the life-giving, special moments I’ve had with friends the past 5 1/2 years, I’m not satisfied. I KNOW I’ve let the ball drop. I KNOW I have way more to offer. I KNOW I haven’t always revealed my truest self. I KNOW we haven’t connected nearly enough. I KNOW there’s something more for us.

Friends, I don’t know your story.

I’ve shared a lot in this letter, but you don’t know all of my story either.

Here’s what I do know.

I see women enjoying vibrant friendships. The system isn’t broken.

But I also see women struggling with friendship. The system isn’t working for everyone.

I see women waiting to be invited.

I see blog post upon blog post about friendship, and lack thereof.

I see loneliness and lack of community.

I see a need for time and connection that we just don’t have.

I see longings.

I see empty spaces.

I see a quiet searching for something more than this.

I see a bunch of women who have holes and hurts and horrible habits that could be so incredibly healed if they just had a friend to talk things through with on a regular basis.

I see a Facebook full of women who would be better off served up a piece of chocolate cake over coffee and friends, than they would another Facebook post about Donald Trump.

I see myself not making enough effort. I see myself not making friendship a priority. I see myself being too busy with other stuff to take the time needed. I see myself desperate for something different, desperate for the next level of authentic, adult female friendship.

I see you. And I see me. And I’m wondering how we can do this differently.

I’m thinking I need a revolution and revelation when it comes to friendship.

That’s why I’m writing you today.

I’m tired of friendship survival mode.

I thought it was working for me, but it isn’t anymore.

If you’re my Facebook friend or blog reader, you might have seen the friendship survey I shared at the end of December. I needed to know if I was on the right track. I needed to know if I was the only one who was seeking something more in the area of friendship. I wanted to know if I was the only one who’d fallen off the friendship wagon at some point. I wanted to know if I was the only one who was desperately wanting to reclaim, renew, and retain good, healthy, solid, real friendships. I needed to VERIFY that what I was THINKING, SEEING and BELIEVING about friendship was at least partially true.

The survey proved I was on the right track.

37 women responded. AWESOME! Maybe that sounds like a small sample to you, but I was super happy with how many ladies took time to complete the anonymous, 10-question survey.

Women ages 18-69 completed the survey. 95% of respondents were between the ages of 30-69.

43% of women surveyed are “satisfied” with the friendships they have with other women. 30% of women surveyed are “NOT satisfied” with the friendships they have with other women. 27% of women surveyed are “SOMETIMES satisfied” with the friendships they have with other women. If we look at raw numbers, that translates to 21 out of 37 women who are only SOMETIMES SATISFIED or NOT SATISFIED with the friendships they have with other women.

Hmmm…I’m inclined to believe this is an issue. Worthy of discussion, at least. Worthy of addressing, at best.

Before we go further, I want to send HUGE PROPS and BLESSINGS to the 43% of women in the sample who are satisfied with the friendships they have with other women. So good. I am so glad. The fact that you can report satisfaction tells me a lot about you and your friends. We have hope. We know this can be done. You are an example to us about what friendship is supposed to look like and feel like. Thank you!

As for the rest of us, the 57% of us who are “sometimes satisfied” and “NOT satisfied” with the friendships we have with other women, we have some work to do. I don’t want to sound rude or abrupt, insensitive or preachy. But this is not okay. We deserve better than this. Let’s do something about this. Let’s be creative. Let’s find better ways to connect. Let’s make friendship work for us. Let’s grow and get to the point where we can say YES, I’m satisfied with the friendships I have with other women. In fact, I’m MORE than satisfied.

So let’s do this. Here’s what we’re going to do.

I’m going to spend the next two or three weeks – however I feel inclined, however I feel led – sharing “Letters to Friends.” These letters are going to be short and vague. No names will be named. No personal photos will be used. I want you to see yourself in these letters. I want good and not-so-good patterns of friendship to emerge for you, and for me. But let me be clear. As vague as the letters will be, I’ll be writing each to a specific woman, with that specific friendship in mind. In other words, these letters aren’t manufactured. They’re birthed out of my real-life experiences with women, with friends. Let’s learn together. Let’s chat together. In this case, vague is the perfect place for reflection.

After that, I’m going to share a post with data and discussion from the anonymous friendship survey. I barely scratched the surface of that survey in this letter. You simply must know.

Then after that, I’m going to share a post in which we’re going to DO SOMETHING about this. We’re going to do something for the 57% of us who are “sometimes satisfied” or “NOT satisfied” with the friendships we have with other women. I’ve had some ideas milling in my mind for a while now. We’ll see how the month unfolds. We have to do something about this. I’m ready to do something about this. And I’d love for you to join me.

P.S. My apologies for the 2,178 word love letter. I guess I’m more passionate about this subject than I knew.

This is the first post of a month-long series on friendship titled Love Letters to Friends. To read the rest of the posts in the series, scroll down and you’ll find all the posts listed and linked for your reading pleasure.

A Letter to the Woman I Wanted to be My Friend

A Letter to the Friend Who Figured Me Out in Six Days

A Letter to the Woman Who Wanted to be My Friend

That Cool Girl

A Letter to the Friend I’ve Neglected

Thanks, friends.

 

A story’s been sitting in my heart. Deep. Within. Crying to be let out for nearly two months now.

A story of FINE.

“How are you?”

“FINE.”

“How are you?”

“FINE.”

This story of FINE. It’s so old. I’m so over it. So done with the mask of FINE. FINE. FINE.

Let me tell you the real story of FINE. The pervasiveness of FINE that hit home hard when I was in Africa two months ago.

One morning, our group decided we’d walk to the local village. On our way, we passed women doing and drying laundry on stones. We visited the orphans’ school. We prayed for a store owner, and a woman who’d just come from the doctor with significant chest pain. We stopped at the medical clinic, and discovered they were completely out of supplies. A medical clinic without supplies? I was floored. Unthinkable. Not okay.

It began raining.

We didn’t have umbrellas.

We didn’t have cover.

I had my camera along and was rightly concerned it could get destroyed with one swift downpour. I sent Eric, a college-educated teacher and full-time volunteer at the orphanage, with pocket change. He bought me two thin, plastic green bags with Mickey Mouse on front for protection. They worked great.

Before we knew it, we were nearing the church. The children’s church. The church the orphans attend every Sunday. Randy, our trip leader, wanted to show us. Randy wanted us to see this place where earthly FINE becomes gloriously, heavenly FINE.

To our sweet surprise, out called a group of children from the distance.

“How are you?”

“How are you?”

“How are you?” 

“How are you?”

“How are you?”

Their “How are you’s” sang in harmony.

Their “How are you’s?” rang true.

Their “How are you’s?” were familiar.

American.

English.

“How are you?”

They were asking us. Truly asking us, “How are you?”

Out came the children from the distance.

Out, out they ran.

Out they came to greet us.

“How are you?”

We thought it was cute. It was. It really was.

They were the most adorable children.

But here’s the thing…it wasn’t so cute as it was a little bit cutting when they started answering their own question, when they started answering OUR questions…

“How are YOU?”

“FINE.”

These precious. Adorable. JOYFUL. EXUBERANT. DELIGHTFUL children were “FINE?”

I’m so sorry, sweethearts. I know this is the English you’ve been taught, the English you know to speak to us today, but this is not okay.

You are so much more than FINE. You are AWESOME! You are truly AWESOME. Excellent. Fantastic. SO good.

And so began the downpour I was afraid of.

In we went to the church, along with the whole group of children who’d just greeted us with “FINE.”

We sang.

They sang.

It was chill, relaxed.

Beautiful.

Holy.

We waited the rain out.

We gave some hugs.

Laughed. Smiled. Reveled in the moment.

It was more than FINE. It was good. Awesome.

Eric explained the phenomenon of “How are you?” “FINE.” to us later. In most Kenyan schools, children are taught English as standard practice. They are taught to inquire with “How are you?” And they are taught to respond to that question with “FINE.”

What???????

I couldn’t believe my ears.

Eric, my dear African brother, was telling me that children in Kenya are taught to say “FINE” in response to the English question “How are you?”

How can this be?

Could it really be that our culture of “FINE” has become so pervasive that it’s crept it’s way ALL the way to a group of JOYFUL children in Africa?

FINE?

I’m sorry. Maybe I’m off base. Maybe I’m too sensitive. But that’s totally NOT okay.

These children are NOT fine.

They are GOOD. GREAT. EXCELLENT. AWESOME.

Later that week, as a group of us were walking down the long road to the orphanage, I took the opportunity to chat with Eric about this “How are you?” “FINE.” business.

I approached the conversation tenderly and sincerely, but with as much passion as possible. I wanted him to know that “FINE” is not an accurate word choice to describe the HEART CONDITION of most of the children I met in Kenya. I hoped he’d be a change agent for this incredibly incorrect word choice. “FINE” wasn’t Eric’s fault. “FINE” wasn’t any of their faults. It’s what they’ve been taught. Innocently. Completely innocently. How would they ever know?

I explained to Eric that in our American culture, if we say “FINE” in response to the question “How are you?,” it might mean that in reality, we’re doing okay, that we’re surviving, that we’re getting by, that maybe we’re not that great and maybe we’re too busy and too masked to say how we’re really feeling. I explained that in America, “FINE” is a vague way to answer “How are you?” “FINE” is a way to mask the true condition of our hearts. I explained the words they could use to more accurately describe the condition of their lives, the condition of their hearts. If they’re feeling good, “FINE” would be at the absolute bottom of the barrel. GOOD, GREAT, EXCELLENT, and AWESOME would be much better alternatives. Eric smiled and soaked it in. I’m pretty sure he’s acting as a change agent for “FINE” in Kenya, Africa.

Friends, I know I’m edging on preaching here. But we really need to stop it with the “How are you?” “FINE.”

I’m just as guilty as anyone else. “FINE” is my default if I want to tell you my vaguest truth. “FINE.” I’m “FINE.” Yep. “FINE.” Does that work as we pass in the hall? Does that work as we have one minute picking up the kids from volleyball practice? Does that work when we greet each other in the Target checkout lane? Does that work as you’re texting me quick to check in on this or that? Yep. It does.

But truth is, inside I know the truth.

Inside, you know the truth.

Inside, we all know the truth.

Sometimes, we’re NOT FINE.

Okay. Let’s admit it. Sometimes we’re NOT. FINE.

As a solution to this problem, I’d like to propose that we completely eliminate the word “FINE” in response to the question “How are you?”

Can we do that?

Let’s be honest.

Let’s be real.

I’ve been through enough.

I’ve masked enough.

I’ve hid long enough.

I don’t want to be “FINE.”

I don’t like to be “FINE.”

I don’t find any value or reward in telling you I’m “FINE.”

What is “FINE” anyway?

Nothing?

Life as is?

Status quo?

Okay?

Mediocre?

Surviving?

Getting by?

Fine?

Let’s stop the “FINE.”

It doesn’t mean much of anything to anyone.

Let’s be real, even if we don’t have time to explain the details.

Here are the words we can use instead of FINE…

“How are you?”

“I’m actually doing pretty horrible.”

“I’m feeling like crap today.”

“Sorry, I don’t have words for how I’m feeling today.”

“We’re running low on money and it’s stressing me out.”

“I don’t know.”

“I was feeling like junk this morning, but the fact that you’re asking makes me feel like someone cares.”

“I’m really feeling depressed today. The weather’s getting me down.”

“I need to get out. Wanna grab dinner tonight, or maybe coffee sometime next week?”

“I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I’m overwhelmed by all that’s going on.”

“I’ve been better. I’d appreciate your prayers.”

“My kid’s giving me trouble, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“My kid’s giving me trouble, and I feel like a horrible mom.”

“My husband’s requiring a lot of care, and it’s really draining me.”

“Honestly, I can’t do it all anymore.”

“I don’t have a clue.”

OR how about these alternatives…

“How are you?”

“Hey thanks for asking! I’m doing great today. Loving the sunshine and just had a big win at my son’s game.”

“I’m doing pretty well. I was feeling like junk last week, but this week I’m feeling way better.”

“Feeling much better now that I get to see you!”

“Feeling much better now that I’ve been able to workout more.”

“Feeling much better now that I’m skipping those daily doughnuts.”

“Better than I’ve ever been.”

“I’m great. So glad to be here!”

“Feeling super chill right now.”

“Excellent. This is incredibly relaxing.”

“Thanks for asking! It’s been way too long since I’ve seen you. When can we catch up?”

“Good question. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, but I’ve worked my way through it and I’m through to the other side now.”

“It’s been an awesome day! Can’t wait for tonight!”

“I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

“I’m great! Every day’s a good day!”

“I’m good.”

“I’m great!”

“I’m excellent!”

“I’m AWESOME!”

Let’s be authentic. Let’s be real. Let’s stop saying we’re “FINE” when in reality, there’s so much more to the story. Let’s be change agents HERE, so when they learn English THERE, “How are you?” “FINE” will be no more.

 

Mama had significant concerns. Her daughter was barely speaking when we first met. We worked together for a year and a half. Two times a week, we sat on the living room floor, then at the dining room table, for intense speech-language therapy. A year and a half later, after all that therapy, after all that working together, mama’s baby girl was speaking like everyone else. I had the rare opportunity to discharge that sweet girl from speech-language therapy, no qualms, no second guessing about it.

It was beautiful. Incredibly beautiful. To bring a child from barely speaking at all, to testing “within normal limits” and speaking like all the other children her age is a true honor and pleasure.

But there was something else extraordinary about the year and a half I spent working with that mama and daughter.

My relationship with mama was special. Unique.

We clicked.

We got each other.

We totally understood each other.

Can I say it any other way?

I adored mama. Adored her.

She was smart, witty and quirky, full of little faults like everyone else. She was passionate and opinionated, strong-willed, fierce, motivated and determined. She knew what she liked in life, and she knew what she didn’t like. She knew what she needed as a mom and a wife, and wasn’t afraid to gift it to herself if necessary. She wasn’t like most of women I knew, and I loved that. I loved ALL those things about mama. But here’s what I absolutely adored about her. She had a soft side she barely, rarely let out. I saw it peek out here and there and it was so incredibly tender. I wondered if she’d been misunderstood more than once. I wondered if people didn’t always “get” her. I TOTALLY “got” her. And I’m pretty sure she TOTALLY “got” me, too.

It was beautiful.

I loved every bit of that mama.

Still do.

When we stood at the door that last day of therapy, when I’d reviewed the standardized test results that proved her daughter’s speech and language was now “within normal limits,” mama thanked me for all I’d done. She thanked me for how far I’d brought her daughter. She thanked me for all the therapy, for bringing her and her daughter through some really rough and uncertain times.

It was humbling, of course.

But then she said something else I’ll never, ever forget.

It was much, much more personal than speech-language therapy. And it meant the world to me.

“I don’t usually like people, but I like you.”

No doubt about it. That was the greatest compliment I’d ever received. Two years later, it’s STILL the greatest compliment I’ve ever received.

“I don’t usually like people, but I like you.” 

I’ve always perceived myself as a little mysterious, a little hard to read, a little hard to fully understand. I get that about myself. Just 1% of the general population has my personality type, so sometimes I’m not sure if I’m really jiving with everyone else’s more popular personalities.

So when that mama told me she “[doesn’t] usually like people,” but she likes me?!

Oh my goodness.

I totally knew her. I totally know myself. And I totally knew what she meant. So I totally took it as a HUGE compliment.

To be completely honest, I don’t really WANT to be like all the other people. I don’t really FEEL like all the other people. So the fact that she recognized that, the fact that she subconsciously felt that from me, and the fact that she was able to articulate it in a way that really meant something to me, was absolutely an honor.

So I’ve been pondering mama’s compliment – the best compliment I’ve EVER received – and have been wondering if there’s a take-away.

How can we compliment people in ways that mean something to them?

How can we compliment people in ways that build them up?

How can we move FROM “I love your haircut,” and “I love those boots,” TO “It seems like you always know when people need encouragement,” and “Did you that you’re the most generous person I know?”

How can we compliment people in ways that feel sincere and authentic?

How can we compliment people in ways that make them realize we’ve actually paid attention to WHO they are, HOW they operate, and WHAT makes them tick?

How can we compliment people in ways that really stick and stay with them?

How can we compliment people in ways that change they way they do life?

How can we compliment people in ways that bring out the best in them, not just for today, but for long-term always?

So many questions to ponder, but I think you get the point.

“I don’t usually like people, but I like you.”

It’s the best compliment I ever received.

Who can you compliment today? For real?

And if not today, who are you noticing so you can compliment them tomorrow or down the road when your words will mean even more?

Just asking.

Because honestly, I need to do the same.

Those words, those compliments, they’re a true gift if given wisely.

 

Six months from now, I’ll be 40.

Finally…the decade I’ve been waiting for.

I know. Crazy, right? Who WANTS to turn 40?

Me. I do, please.

My 20s? They were good. Finished college. Got married. Went to graduate school. Moved a handful of times. Bought our first house. Bought a lot of stuff for the house. Had two babies. Worked and worked some more. Found a church. Made some friends. Lost touch with some friends. Went to a lot of weddings. Visited a lot of babies. Had some fun times. Went through some bad times. Began dreaming. Grew in my faith.

My 30s? They were good. Sold a house. Built a house. Worked. Worked some more. Then decided to take a break from paid work and work on a hobby, a passion, a calling, whatever you want to call it. Worked out a lot. Had another baby. Did lots of kid stuff. Spent lots of time with other peoples’ kids. Got some date nights and a couple vacations with my hubby. Didn’t get nearly enough date nights and time with my hubby. Left a church. Found another church. Made a few friends and a lot of acquaintances. Lost touch with more friends. Had some great times. Went through some very bad times. Received and processed diagnoses. Read a ton of blogs. Began a blog. Felt sure. Felt totally unsure. Had dreams come true. Continued dreaming. Grew in my faith.

And now…I’m less than six months out from my 40s.

Yes, it’s 2016, the year of my 40th birthday.

40 is first and foremost, totally respectable.

40 is much wiser.

40 is aging very well, thank you.

40 is been there, done that.

40 is I’m done playing games, I’m living now.

40 is prime.

40 is golden.

40 is no longer naive.

40 is (pretty much) half-way there.

40 is time to begin again.

40 is mid-life awakening.

40 is life.

40 is me being me.

40 is let’s settle into this.

40 is I’m tired of playing games.

40 is I don’t (want to) care what you think anymore.

40 is let’s do this.

40 is it’s time to get real.

40 is let’s rock this.

Three years ago, I was mistaken for a 13 year old when I was in the elevator with my husband on a cruise ship. I’m not. even. kidding. I was wearing a swimsuit and coverup. I wasn’t wearing makeup. Still…I hope I acted older than a 13 year old.

Two months ago, I was mistaken for an undergraduate student at a speech-language convention. Then I was mistaken for a graduate student more than once. For the most part, I looked like all the grad students I met there. Still…I hope I acted older than 18-23 years old.

I know I LOOK much younger than I am. But I’ve always FELT much older than I am. The discrepancy still bothers me. 

This year, I might be mistaken for a 13 year old, an 18 year old, a 22 year old, a 26 year old, or even a 35 year old. But make no mistake, whether I’m 39 1/2, 39 2/3, 39 3/4 or 40, I’m rocking 40 the whole year through.

40 is me being me.

40 is it’s time to get real.

40 is golden.

Eight days ago, I woke up and got dressed in a black and white work outfit with tall black boots, and put my computer in my black and white polka dotted Thirty-One bag. My husband asked why I was all dressed up. My kids did too.

“I’m leaving the house and I’m going to write. All day. And I’m going to write for six hours every Tuesday and Thursday for the next three, four or five months unless there’s a really good reason not to.”

Okay, I’m paraphrasing. I don’t remember the exact words I said. But basically, that’s what I said. That’s exactly what I meant to say, at least.

I spent five to six hours writing on January 5th.

I spent five to six hours writing on January 7th.

On January 9th, I finished Mark Batterson’s book, “The Circle Maker.” I haven’t been praying nearly enough. I haven’t been praying nearly big enough. And I haven’t been trusting myself, anyone or God Himself nearly enough. God made TWO of my lifelong dreams come true in 2015, and I wasn’t even actively praying for them to come true. I was just walking this dusty, narrow, totally unknown path called…

“I’m following my dreams.”

“I’m pursuing my calling.”

“I’m following Jesus?”

What does any of this mean, anyway?

Seriously, is this work or is this not work? Am I living in reality or am I not? Am I doing what I’m supposed to be doing or am I not? Because I’m confused, but I’m totally NOT confused all at once.

So yeah…

40.

40 is much wiser.

On January 12th, I spent 1 hour 40 minutes in Barnes & Noble bookstore and 1 hour in LifeWay Christian Bookstore. I prayed. I perused. I looked. I examined. I analyzed. I wondered HOW I fit, WHERE I fit, and mostly IF I fit. I imagined. I dreamed. I took a lot of notes. And I very intentionally decided to begin dreaming bigger. Because I’m praying bigger. I’m believing bigger. I’m believing that God has more. I’m believing that God has more than I’ve visioned, more than I’ve imagined, more than I’ve allowed myself to dream.

It has to be true.

Then I remembered the dream I’d forgotten until recently, the dream I held long ago to own an Amy’s Hallmark store. I don’t want to own an Amy’s Hallmark anymore. But I have been thinking about that forgotten dream. I have been wondering if it’s more about the cards, if it’s about the words and simple, intentional, and meaningful connections with human beings in old-fashioned pen and paper form. The truth is, I still LOVE cards. A beautifully-designed and well-written card still ROCKS my WORLD. I’m still compelled to buy and send cards. I still find myself at complete peace when I’m alone (aka without kids) in a Hallmark store. Geeky AND cheesy, I know. So I’ve begun dreaming a silly little dream…what if I could land a job writing cards someday? Maybe I could fill a card niche that doesn’t currently exist? Wouldn’t that be an awesome little dream come true?

It’s a new dream.

Perhaps it’s old made new?

Perhaps it’ll come true.

Perhaps it’ll never come true.

Perhaps it’ll forever be a silly little far-off dreamy dream I shared with a few people who happened to read my January 14, 2016 blog post?

Perhaps it’s something.

Perhaps it’s nothing.

I’m open.

So I made my way over to LifeWay Bookstore’s card section and didn’t waste a second looking at anything but Karen Kingsbury’s STUNNING card collection I’ve been swooning over since it released. The collection is noteworthy, but small, so I allowed myself to handle and read EVERY. CARD. EVERY. ONE. It felt indulgent, this stopping to read a bunch of greeting cards on my third official writing “work day,” but it was necessary for my heart. It was necessary for my acknowledgement that WORDS MATTER, that WORDS MATTER to me, that MY words matter.

By the end of all that looking, I’d gathered three cards in my hand, three cards that spoke to my heart, three cards I LOVED. You know what I did next? I decided I’d buy them all as a 40th birthday gift to myself…6 months early.

Because…

40 is trusting and believing that all things work together for good, even when I feel stupid, silly, dreamy, discouraged, worthless, out of place, or totally off course.

40 is giving grace.

40 is knowing myself better than before.

40 is loving myself.

40 is giving myself what I need, so I’m better equipped to give others what they need.

In 14 days of 2016, I’ve condemned myself, I’ve disqualified myself, I’ve had disarming and disturbing dreams, I’ve had a whole lot of dreams about broken glass and ceramic, and I’ve been awake in the middle of the night praying “Jesus” because I felt my brain swirling with fear and darkness drawing near.

40 is NOT foolproof, friends.

But make no mistake, I’m rocking 40 the whole year through.

Because…

40 is braver.

40 is bolder.

40 is KNOWING there’s a reason we’ve been here, TRUSTING there’s a reason we’re still here, LIVING like we’re worth more than a passing glance, PRAYING that God can and will do all things, and BELIEVING our best days are still ahead.

40 is knowing with 100% certainty that I DON’T want a 40th birthday bash. It’s not me. It’s simply not me. But make no mistake. I bought those cards for a reason. This 40th is momentous. This 40 means something to me. I’m dreaming big for one thing, I’m working hard for another, and I’m praying hard for both. This year of 40.

40 is…