Today I am 29. Nope, not afraid of my thirties…bring ’em on. I certainly don’t want to live longing for years past. I believe the best moments are yet to come. Maybe I feel this way because my parents and grandparents have aged so well. I mean, Grandpa Milt went ski-diving last year at 78.
When I was a kid it’s safe to say I was fearless. Even reckless.
Back flips off the diving board, feet dangling off the precipice of the cliff, lizards clamped down on my earlobes for earrings, a single sunflower in my hand enticing a field of Brahman cattle, deer hunting with dad, challenging boys for monkey bar races, sitting alone at many a lunch table, content.
Mom says I was always a fighter. At 14 weeks, I threatened to miscarry. Then again at 28 weeks. Born at 37 weeks, same as Finn. My pregnancy was a bit of deja vu for my parents, though for different reasons.
At some point I quit risk-taking. I was tired of being the new girl. I just wanted to blend in, to be normal. A couple years in college I think I even forgot who I was. I suspect one way Satan gets us to quit being who God intended us to be is that we quit doing things we love. Scary. I felt this way during my pregnancy too. I didn’t want the “special” calling to raise a disabled child. Ugh, I just wanted normal. But Finn’s so much better than normal. His bravery and perseverance is teaching me to be fearless again. Though still rather paralyzed, his legs are continuing to move more and more. He is strong. We even saw his little toes curl a bit last week.
I think life is something you should cannonball into, making a gigantic splash…not something you dip your toes in.