Reflection 31: Apparently, I’m Ancient

My birthday is coming up, and I am turning the grand old age of 28. Or as my college students like to remind me, ancient.

They recently asked if I wore shoulder pads in high school. One even wondered if I attended school shortly after the invention of the wheel. They love their jokes, and honestly, I take them in stride. They are funny. I enjoy a good roast now and then.

But it does make me think about aging.

I once had a coworker who seemed almost obsessed with getting older, as if it were something to outrun. But aging is inevitable. Just like death. You cannot stop it, no matter how much you try to smooth it over.

And nowadays, trying to smooth it over is normal. Botox. Fillers. Hair extensions. Acrylic nails. Lash extensions. Surgeries. Treatments. All in the name of “enhancing” beauty. In many ways, it feels like we are trying to pretend we are not the age we actually are.

I know this is where some people will disagree with me, and that is okay.

But I do think we focus too much on physical beauty. Because the truth is, this body is not coming with me when I go. My soul will. My love will. My yes to the Lord will. If I am blessed, the legacy of my children will.

Of course there are things I have “lost” as I have gotten older.

I lost the flat stomach I had in college. The slim face. The strong legs that could run for miles without thinking twice. I lost the endurance for late nights and too many drinks. I lost the freedom to spend money carelessly or make spontaneous decisions without considering anyone else.

But look at what I have gained.

I have a master’s degree. I have a husband who genuinely loves and cares for me. I have two beautiful children who light up my world, even on the days they test every ounce of my patience. I have stability. I have a home. I have a life built with intention instead of impulse.

There are moments, if I am honest, when aging feels heavy. When I wish I could go back to the body I had at 22. When I miss the simplicity of fewer responsibilities.

But if I spend my time longing for who I used to be, I will miss who I am becoming.

My babies will not stay this little. They are older in a blink of an eye. If I am too busy grieving the body I used to have, I will forget to be present in the life I prayed for.

Every year older is another year of memories. Another year of growth. Another year of sanctification. Another year of laughter around our dinner table. Another year of watching my children learn something new.

Yes, I am getting older.

But I am also getting fuller.

Fuller in love. Fuller in wisdom. Fuller in gratitude.

I do not know how many birthdays I will get. Maybe I make it to 35. Maybe 85. Maybe 105. That part is not in my hands.

But what is in my hands is how I see the years I am given.

And I would not trade this last year — the stretch marks, the tired eyes, the chaos, the beauty — for the body or the freedom I had at 22.

Because growing older is not a loss.

It is a gift.