I want to talk about happiness

I am 40. Finally. I have wished for 40 for as long as I can remember. I didn't know why. I just remember that every woman I've talked to said that "it all came together" at 40. I had no idea what that meant. What was this elusive "it"?  Where was it? Why was it lost and needed to be found? Or was it separated and needed to come together? What did that even mean? I don't know. No idea. But I wanted it.

Now I have it. Now I know.

I am happy. They were talking about being happy. They would regurgitate the same words. They said:

"You figure out who you are."

"You don't care what anyone thinks of you anymore."

"You finally have enough money."

"You've raised your kids. That job's done."

"You are comfortable with yourself."

"You come into you own."

"You just don't care anymore." This one I heard a LOT. "You don't care anymore."

Those words, true thought they are, don't convey what happens at this point in your life. They are accurate words but they are insufficient. Much like saying the sun is hot. Yes, the sun is hot- it's also a lethal ball of a sweltering inferno that at best will kill you if you get too close to it and if it gets any closer to us will destroy the planet. That's a whole lot different than being "hot."  It's hotter than anything that we have words for so we minimize what it is due to the inadequacy of our language. We do the same when describing what happens when we come into our own. We minimize it due to the inadequacies of our language. So I'm going to try a different approach.

Imagine that you are laying in your bed, not quite conscience enough to be awake- not quite unconscious enough to be sleeping. Your in the beautiful land of what happens between dreams and awake.  You become aware- aware of the languorous heaviness of your limbs. They have sleep coursing through them. Your 800 thread count sheets feel like clouds. The wisps of the dreams you just enjoyed are slowly evaporating. At the same time you begin to feel the warmth of the sun streaming through your open window. It hits your tummy and the warmth begins to spread. It feels like each ray is sending it's own special brand of warmth and happiness through your epidermis and into your soul. It starts to feel like the warmth from your insides and the warmth from the outside are meeting each other and deciding without conversation to simultaneously heat you from the outside and inside. To the perfect temperature. It's a perfect dance. Then it begins to spread. Up through your rib cage and down to your womb. Spreading, spreading, spreading leaving shards of warmth and happiness in it's wake. By the time it climbs your sternum and your clavicle you recognize that you can breathe in rays. Absorb, generate, and recycle the sun. You breath deeply, slowly, smelling the sun. It becomes a part of your essence and the start of your day. You turn your face, seeking the heat, and by the time it reaches your eyes you are ready to open them. You open your eyes and there it is-

The perfect dawn.

40 is the perfect dawn.

There is no better way to describe it.

A

On in love

I have had 2 great loves. Loves of my life. Squared. Both of whom I would have married. Neither of which asked me. I was not left in doubt of the reciprocity of the affection. I fully trusted that in making that decision they were making the right one for me. They saw me. They knew me. Time has not faded or subdued love. Muted for the greater good, yes. Diminished? Not at all. I am confident in whom I've loved. I am confident in the decisions that they made for love.

I am built for marriage. I am not built for marriage. They would know better than I. To love a thing is to free a thing, especially a thing that craves to be free. How can you love me, know me, and still wish to cage me? You couldn't. He couldn't and he couldn't. Odd right? I love you enough to be enslaved. You love me enough to never ask it of me. Perhaps that's what love is. Perhaps it's not. The other person sacrificing for the other person. In giving their best neither one of them getting what they want. I'm grateful. I'm saddened.

I can't wish that they'd been less selfless, had they I would have neither loved or respected them. Who can love a wild thing? How does one love a wild thing? From a distance.

"The only thing worse than being single is wishing that you were."

In respect to God...

The unexpectedness of my life always seems to amaze me. The effectiveness of prayer never fails to humble me. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that God is real and that prayer works. I know this to be true. Yet for some reason when I see that prayer is working in my behalf I am always a little bit surprised. Like a child talking to a parent whom you assume is distracted and then they show up the next day with that exact toy/meal/flavor of ice cream that you were telling them about. You are both surprised and surprised at your being surprised.

I know God is good. I know this with every fiber of my being. I KNOW it. But it still catches me unawares of how carefully he listens and how thoroughly he answers. I always wonder- are my prayers special? Does everyone feel like this? Why me? I am not remarkable or special or even very good. I make so many mistakes. But I try. And I don't give up. I never give up. Maybe that's enough.

In respect to a recent trial, every single asterisks on every single list (yes, there were multiple) was hit and underscored. To perfection. How can anyone really say that God isn't real? How can anyone say that He isn't interested? Doesn't listen?

Preposterous.

Really very crazy talk.

Jehovah is the best. He hears, He listens, He watches, He acts.

Humbling.