My 40th Birthday: A Reflection on Childlike Faith

When I think back to my first four decades on earth, it’s easy to try to divide my life into heartache and triumph. Heartache looked like losing Liv and Jettson in the second trimester, heartache felt like the worst rejection I’ve ever faced from those I trusted most, heartache sounded like speaking at my mom’s funeral after she passed away in an accident. Triumph felt like giving my life fully to Jesus at the age 19, triumph looked like having Judson as a double rainbow baby at 36, and turning around to be given the gift of the perfect little miracle Jasmine Lynlee through adoption at 37. Triumph sounded like walking the line to accept my doctorate just months after my mom’s funeral and hearing my children cheering for me from the balcony. I looked back at my thirties last night, the highs, lows, and in betweens, and just wept. I  buried two babies, but I was given two miracle babies. I said goodbye to my mom, but I hosted three women’s conferences in her honor. I walked through tremendous rejection from people who were once my family, but my immediate family grew, from two children to five, adding Josiah and the two toddlers to our wild crew as I approach this milestone. 

If I could divide my life into heartache and healing, I’d always see that healing wins, following the “even if" or the "why me." I would realize that people sometimes only accept one side of a story and never ask me mine. I’d notice that rejection is for my protection and that new seasons can be more about hope and restoration than devastation and loss. So I wanted to reflect not on people, but on places that shaped who I am today. 

Dixiana Court Apartments- When I was just a little girl, four or five years old, the playground at our apartment complex was the highlight of my life. I met a little boy who became my best friend. He would sneak me one of his dad’s cans of Dr. Peppers at least twice a week. This is a core memory for me because we didn’t have soft drinks in our house, as it was considered a wasteful luxury. I can remember standing beneath the shiny metal slide, sipping the sugary bliss as he smiled at me. The Dixiana Court apartments might have been government housing to some, but to me, it was the place I found out how to imagine, where I made mud pies after the rain, and where I discovered how to play wedding day as we conducted ceremonies for couples of children by the swingset. 

Life Lesson: Never despise small beginnings.

Thruston Elementary School- By the time I started kindergarten, I was fully thriving. We had just bought a house in Wrights Acres, which made my zoned school Thruston Elementary School. This was the place I learned to read and write, participate in my first plays, learn about the 4-H speech contest, and ultimately find my voice. It is where I was on my first sports teams: The Cowboys for teeball, and the Thruston Wildcats and Thruston Tornados for softball. By third grade, my teacher, Mrs. Croft, who looked like Miss America, inspired me to become a teacher myself. Her class was welcoming and fun, and I adored her. When I graduated 5th grade in 1997, we found out that we were the LAST class to attend Thruston, which was very special to me. Within a year, the school was torn down.

Life Lesson:  Enjoy your season, it won’t last forever. 

 Kentucky Wesleyan College- I struggled in school because I was not your typical scholar. Sure, I excelled in academics in some areas. I loved reading and writing, but I failed two high school classes, including French II and Algebra II. I might have done better on my math tests if I had learned to control my sidebar conversations. Instead of quietly taking notes or utilizing homework help, I could be found creating full dialogue with whoever would participate mid-lecture. Coming to KWC, I did not know what to expect, and in the back of my mind, I feared flunking out and letting my family down. Instead, KWC became the first time in my life that I believed the truth that I was not a failure, and not only would I pass my courses, but I would also enjoy some of the most formative years of my life there. I had a professor who suggested I change my major to middle grades, which turned out to be my passion, and I had several leadership opportunities along the way. From speaking at scholar’s day to DJing at 90.3 WKWC, to leading campus tours as an ambassador, to landing a speaking role in one of the plays. When I came to KWC, I was an 18-year-old with the whole world ahead of me, and when I graduated 4.5 years later, I was married to Josh and walking the line to receive my diploma with 8-month-old Jonah in tow. There is nothing I would change about my time at KWC, which might explain why I came back to teach there all these years later. 

Life Lesson: Sometimes we don’t thrive because the conditions in the soil are not right. When they are, everything changes, and true greatness is unlocked. 

Camp Nikao- I can't type this one without tears beginning to form. This campground is where I met Jesus- not the Jesus I learned about in Sunday School, and not the Jesus who judges harshly, or led my own mom wanting to leave church. Instead, I met the real Jesus, one I had to encounter for myself, one I had to be desperate enough to SEEK, to cry out to, to confess all my sins and lay my old life down at his feet. I was 19 when I attended this church camp, technically aged out of the high school week, but Josh’s Mamaw Opal paid my way, never knowing the price tag would cost me everything, and would change the trajectory of my life from striving sinner to never the same. It was night one. Worship was in full swing when I went running to the altar. No one held the mic, no one gave an altar call, no one tried to push me down or beg for a raised hand with every eye closed. My heart was pounding outside my chest, and the Holy Spirit was drawing me. When I reached the front of the room, the cry of my heart was simple— “Lord, I will not leave this spot until you change me.” And he met me at the campgrounds that night, among hundreds of other young people, and I have never looked back. A few years later, when Josh and I worked high school camp, I was washed by a wall of gratitude the moment we turned onto Shepherdsville Road. There was something holy to me about the rolling hills, beautiful tree line, and shaded playground-- something soft, and silent and safe. I have often stood in the same spot where I gave my life to Jesus through the years, where three of my kids have now attended camp for numerous summers, and cried, “Oh Lord, thank you. I could never thank you enough for meeting me right here in this exact space.”

Life Lesson: Remind yourself often of the moment you were forever changed. Never stop thanking God for the second in time that changed everything. 

Reid’s Orchard- Anyone who knows me knows that I hold fast to childlike excitement about even the littlest things. Growing up, there was never extra money for vacations and luxuries like going to the movies on a Friday night. Much simpler things became the countdown we looked forward to. Because I have an October birthday, I have a special place in my heart for fall: bonfires, piles of freshly raked leaves, flannel shirts, and burnt marshmallows. But my favorite sign of fall each year came the third weekend in October, just down the road from my house. The Reid’s Orchard Apple Festival was a magical childhood memory for me. We pulled into the winding drive, lined with trees and the colors of fall. We paid our dollar to park, and the drill was the same-- one food item, one hayride, and an Apple Slushy, and that was it. I didn’t dare ask for tickets for the carnival rides or a fresh ball of cotton candy. I browsed the craft booths, watched kids get their faces painted, and sipped my precious slushy. Some years I wore a coat and bundled up beneath the blistering wind, and others I wore shorts and a light sweatshirt, enjoying a final weekend of sunshine and 70’s. That was the beauty of the Apple Festival-- come rain or shine, it was always such a good time and no two years were the same. One year my friend Katie, who happened to live there, gifted me and a couple of classmates a bracelet for unlimited carnival rides. That year, it was like winning the lottery-- everything I ever wanted to do was right at my fingertips and it was even more fun than I had imagined. 

Years later, when Josh and I had kids of our own, we set aside $100, even when times were tight, to ensure our kids got the full experience of the Apple Festival. From playing carnival games to leaving with that big ball of cotton candy and inflatable prizes, I wanted them to take it all in. You can imagine why I felt great peace when we found out my mom’s burial plot was backlit by a row of Reid’s Orchard apple trees. It was as if she could forever rest surrounded by reminders of the very best part of our childhood.  A place that felt like home to me would now be her earthside memorial. My mom LOVED birthdays, and though we were frugal to a fault all year long, she made up for it by making a huge deal about each passing year in the most creative and thoughtful ways. We often celebrated all week long, through multiple events such as birthday dinners or family parties. 

Without my mom here, Josh had big shoes to fill. As my 40th birthday approached, I knew something was up. Three different friends had told me, “See you Sunday,” although I had no idea what they were talking about. I had several guesses, and most of the places I imagined he might throw a celebration were churches because Josh knows my dream birthday party is a worship night. What better way to usher in a new year than to fill a room with the praises of my friends and family? By 5:00 Sunday, Josh started loading the van. I knew we were heading somewhere, but I had no idea where. The first turn he took was driving away from where I thought we might go, so it threw me off. The farther we went down the bypass, the more I thought he might have missed his turn. Finally, as we neared my childhood home, it dawned on me that we might be going to my Dad’s. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my happy place, Reid’s Orchard. Josh put on his turn signal and pulled into the drive. I could not believe it. Without meaning to, he was bringing me as close to my mom’s earthly resting place as physically possible without having my fortieth birthday in a graveyard. I could sense my mom winking, with the birthday wand passed on to others like my husband, my sister Lisa, and my best friend Melissa. She would have said, "Good job, you all. I can't be the birthday fairy this year, but I am so glad she has each of you." I cried the entire way to the parking spot, I cried walking in, and I cried again when some of my biggest cheerleaders, some of my dearest friends, some of the ones who walked beside me in good times and bad, were standing there smiling. It was childhood magic all over again. I might be four decades old, but man, did I feel like a little kid again. 

Life Lesson: Never lose your childlike faith. 

In Matthew 18:2, it states, “He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. 3 And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” 

We can learn a lot from childlike wonder-- the simplicity of happiness, the laughter and imagination, the blank slate of hopes and dreams. We can nap more, play in the rain, apologize quicker, give tight hugs, and celebrate our birthdays all week long. If you read this far, be free today to remember the beauty of being a kid. I might have turned 10 four times already, but the real wisdom comes in honoring the life lessons of my past, and letting go of the need to have it all figured out in the future.