Reflections at 42
I’ve been alive for 42 years, and I still don’t know what I’m doing…
I decided to dip my toe back into the dating scene, so I swapped my beat-up Prius for a sports car—only to wake up and realize I’d rather find a partner who’s more attracted to a beat-up Prius than a sports car.
I’ve been alive for 42 years, and I still don’t know what I’m doing…
I left the Marines to pursue numerous theological degrees, hoping to make some sense of this wild ride—only to wake up and realize I know less today than I did when I started, no matter how loud I was about the little I knew back then.
I’ve been alive for 42 years, and I still don’t know what I’m doing…
I thought I’d climb the corporate ladder, pulling myself up by my bootstraps—only to wake up and realize I’m more at home with those who couldn’t afford bootstraps in the first place.
I’ve been alive for 42 years, and I still don’t know what I’m doing…
I thought I’d have the full nuclear family by now—a wife, 2.5 kids, the whole Norman Rockwell experience. For a long time, I let its absence depress me, only to wake up and realize the Christ I long to follow never worried about or spoke of such a thing. Why should I carry around the weight of its void any longer?
I’ve been alive for 42 years, and I still don’t know what I’m doing…
I used to be desperately afraid of hell, fully absorbing and fleeing from the darkest imagery those like Virgil, Dante, and Milton bled into our culture so long ago—only to wake up and realize that if I want to find an eternal source of weeping and gnashing of teeth, I needn’t look further than my own tormented mind. If Lewis is correct, and its gates are locked from the inside, I shouldn’t like to stay much longer.
I’ve been alive for 42 years, and I still don’t know what I’m doing…
I used to long for a place called Heaven, with streets of gold and a mansion on a hill, gifted to me over my finely tuned theology and understanding—only to wake up and realize the Kingdom of God is both later and now—here and within—where earthly values are worth no more than the ground we tread upon and the mansion God’s building isn’t on a hill but in a heart.
I’ve been alive for 42 years, and I still don’t know what I’m doing…
I used to cry a lot, convinced there was something broken within my spirit—only to wake up and realize that, more often than not, my tears fell not from sadness but from the beauty I recognized within it. I’m not sure we can find beauty if we weren’t first well acquainted with sadness. We recognize light only because we know the dark all too well. I still cry often, but it’s more of a holy sacrament these days.
I’ve been alive for 42 years, and I still don’t know what I’m doing…
I used to pray that God would give me divine certainty, so I’d no longer wander aimlessly in search of meaning—only to wake up and learn that my prayers today sound more like,
Thank you for my confusion. It comes with a great deal of trust,
and,
Thank you for my sadness. It sure accents your loveliness.
I’ve been alive for 42 years, and I still don’t know what I’m doing—only to wake up and realize my greatest fear is waking up next year to write:
I’m 43 and have it all figured out.