35. He's all I need.

Here's what I hate: 35.

35. THIRTY FIVE. I am turning 35 next Monday. I'm sure to some people that sounds young, but it's not a good number for those of us with young children. If you get pregnant when you are 35 or older, you're treated with kid-gloves as if you are basically a corpse who has miraculously conceived. Now, I know, I know, it's just that statistically more things can go wrong with mother and child after the age of 35. Besides, I am NOT pregnant, so I don't know why I am even talking about this. I guess just because IF I were to want to have a baby right now, I'd be put into the "older" mommy category and I'm not sure I like that very much.

I didn't like turning 25 either. Ha! I wish I was turning 25 now. I remember thinking--"25 is so close to thirty! Aaaaaaaaa!” Silly me, turning 30 wasn't that bad. 30 is the new 20. Isn't that what all the magazines are saying now? So, if 30 is the new 20, then 40 is the new 30, so the fact that 35 is so close to 40 should not be scaring me. Right????

But, what's in a number really? Why am I so hung up on the actual number?? I mean, after age 21, numbers don't really matter. I have friends much younger than me and friends who are older than me. It's not like we go around saying, "I'm 32 and a HALF, so ha-ha!" (This is the stage my girls are in right now, because when you are 5.5 and 8.5, those halves matter baby!)

When do you stop being proud of how old you are and start wishing you were younger? I can tell you that my 8 year old is definitely proud of her age and looking forward to adding another 10 or 15 years as quickly as she can. I guess for me, it was at age 25. I was done being excited about how old I was turning at my birthday. I was ready to start going backwards or lying about my age. My mother was 33 for years. I said I was going to do that too. But, now, here I am telling the world that I am turning 35. (Curse you candid blog.) Oh well. I just realized that I sure have a lot to be thankful for in my 35 years...

Let's look back at some snap shots from my birthday parties.

Age 7--my first big neighborhood birthday party. Tons of multi-colored Helium balloons scattered in the yard like trees. Then, an old fashioned fire truck comes and picks up all of the kids and drives them downtown where we all hike up to the top of a famous clock tower building. This was all courtesy of one of my Dad's socialite friends who happened to own said fire truck AND said building. I'm sure that party was what sparked my desire for over-the-top birthday parties (which I didn't always get).

Age 10--trick candles. I can still picture the eager faces of my family smiling as they finished the Happy Birthday song and watching me try to blow out the candles. Trouble is, I had fervently requested them. So, it wasn't a surprise. Thus began my acting career as I convinced all my aunts and uncles that I was mystified by these crazy candles. It wasn't as fun as it sounds.

Age 13--My last birthday party in Colorado (before we moved to Houston). I had my friends over to my Grandmother's for a swimming party. (Boys and girls.) The boys acted stupid. We played a game with a greased watermelon in the pool. It broke. I was devastated. All was well again when I got to hear my talented family sing happy birthday to me in harmony. I will always remember that sound.

Age 14--worst birthday ever. Since we had just moved to Houston, I didn't have any friends really. So, I invited one friend. She didn't show. I called her to remind her. She said her mom wouldn't let her come because they didn't have a present for me. I said I didn't care about that, that I just wanted her to come over and swim. She finally did...2 hours later--AND, she wouldn't get her hair wet in the pool. Sad.

Age 18--quite a contrast to 4 years earlier. I had over 20 friends from church come to my birthday party. They all brought gifts! I had a delicious chocolate cake--probably the first time my mom didn't MAKE my birthday cake. My grandmother sent 18 white roses. It was a glorious birthday year.

Age 20—Bill surprised me with a visit to Houston—he drove all the way from Dallas to arrive at 6am (before I had to be at work). He gave me a ring (not the engagement kind) and a birthday card that revealed he was THE man for me. My Love from above.

Age 21--My kindred spirit and roommate Nicole threw me a surprise party in the lobby of our dorm (I had stayed up at College for the summer). It was a grand time Swing Dancing with dearest friends. I was so happy that she had thrown me a surprise party. No one had ever done that for me and no one has done it since. (P.S. this party for my 21st birthday took place in a dorm on the campus of a private Southern Baptist university. No alcohol allowed. Didn't matter. We had fun!)

Age 30--Bill gave me my 3 heart necklace from Tiffany's--"From the 3 who love you on your 30th." (Meaning, him, Abbey, and Alexis,,,hopefully more than 3 people loved me, but you get the idea.) He surprised me with the necklace and then surprised me when our dear friends Scott and Michelle joined us for dinner.

Age 32--August 8, 2008=08/08/08!!! I'd been imagining this birthday party for years. I mean, how cool is 8/8/8!? Fortunately, the Lord blessed me with a dear friend who was just as excited about throwing a fun theme party. The Crazy Eights party was a huge success and everything turned out GR8!

Wow, that seems like a really long time ago. So much has changed since that crazy 8 party. But, there is a common theme woven through these birthday parties: people who care about me.

Even at my 14th birthday party when my friend didn't show--my family was still there. They loved me (even though at the time, I pretty much considered them to be chopped liver). Certainly, realizing that I've been loved and cared for and celebrated my whole life is lovely. I am so thankful for the people who have made my life so special.

However, there is something else that birthdays bring...Growth. Not the physical kind (ug, I'm not excited about how tall I've gotten or how many wrinkles I have). I'm talking about maturity and spiritual growth. Year by year, I've grown closer to the Lord. He has been my Constant One. You see, I often make grandiose plans in my head for my birthday. Sometimes, I get let down. I get let down by my circumstances or people or life. It just doesn't happen the way I want it. But sometimes the disappointments are what lead me to my Father. I start out crying to Him like a spoiled 3-year old—“it didn’t go the way I hoped—they didn’t do what I expected—I didn’t get the gifts I wanted!” He listens to that rant and gently shows me how ugly I am being. Once I repent for feeling sorry for myself, He gives me an amazing gift. One that I never grow tired of—a gift that fills me with deep joy and awe.

He gives me the gift of His presence. It washes over me like a soft summer breeze. And I realize that...

Here's what I love: He’s all I need.