43

I've been getting used to the idea of being 43 for a few months now, so when I actually turned 43 last week it was no big deal. And when I say I've been getting used to the idea all I really mean is that instead of saying I'm 42, I've been telling people that I'm almost 43. I don't know why. I mean really...43? There are worse things. I guess. And I'm not sure what sparked any conversations over the last few months about my age. I don't think I've just blurted that info out. Surely there was good cause to engage in such small talk.

Anyway, yuck on the Rangers. My shoulders were up in my ears by the time the Cardinals hit that last home run in - what - the 18th inning last Thursday. And had my husband been here to watch it with me he would have been proud at how I was yelling at the t.v. one moment and high-fiving myself the next. It's true what they say about married people starting to look alike and think alike after a while. I have secretly judged him (ok not secretly, but out loud and proud) and been annoyed by him being a fair-weathered fan of the home teams. Which, I have heard from several girlfriends that their husbands do the same thing. Love em when they're winning; hate em when they're losing. And during those last two games I. Did. It. I became the fair-weathered fan in the house. And I realized it while I was standing on the couch wondering in high volume, "how did you really miss catching that ball?!" But really...they made some pathetic mistakes that cost them the World Series...again! But hey...third times a charm, right?

And as I sit here and make my opinion known about their mistakes, I'm reminded of my own. My present, past, and even future failures. And as I am reminded of my own yuck I have to give even that up in prayer so that I am not beaten down in condemnation by the adversary. For such a long time I gave myself over to lies about myself -never understanding, believing, or embracing what God says about me. I've been paralyzed for much of my life by the ugly truth of my fallen nature and have operated as if those lies were true. As if they define who I am and that I can't ever be anything any different. I chose for a long time to sit in the prison cell of my own flesh nature even though the door was wide open and I'd been freed to go. I'm thankful, though, that the lightbulb has been turned on to living free, and when I couldn't find that switch to flip, Grace reached through the darkness and turned it on.