Fabulous Forty!

 

"You're old!" That's what my sista friend - and my husband for that matter - had to say. 

But that statement isn't offensive and here is why:

I've always had an interest in spiritual things (ignited early in life by a “visit” from a deceased relative), and was raised in a Christian family. In full rebellion, however, my teens years were spent constructing my own belief system. I read and searched and selected what sounded best to me, primarily pulling from new age and eastern mystic beliefs, peppered with several forms of fortune telling, topped with a sprinkling of “Jesus Loves Me”.

Insecure and uncertain about the point of life, I was desperate for something that would bring me hope or vision. Between the ages of 15 & 18 I sought out fortune tellers to alleviate the almost overwhelming sense that life was pointlessness only to be crushed with their predictions.

My life line was short, my tarot card readings always included the death card (which in light of the other cards left little to hope for) and my tea leaves foretold such doom that the poor old lady had me drink two cups just to be sure she was seeing things correctly.

I had all these demonic voices (in the form of spiritists, fortunetellers, diviners – and a few spiritual encounters without human buffer) telling me that life was pointless, but it didn't matter because I wouldn't live beyond 26 years.

Thus with my future laid out, I began to live like I believed every word of it. Life was pointless, so I drank ‘til I was poisoned with it, partied like it was 1999 and threw what little sense of caution I had left... to the wind – until I gave birth to my first son.

I was so besotted with him that my lifestyle began to change, and in the years between 18 and 25 I became so focused on the task of preparing my kids (two by this point) for self-sufficiency that I lost sight of why it was so important. The only thing that remained of those prognostications was a tremendous sense of foreboding.

What neither I, nor any of these fortunetellers and the spirits they listened to had factored in, was the fact that I had praying parents – crying out before Jesus’ throne on my behalf.

My 26^th year was brutal. 

We had been going to church and were talking about applying the lessons learned there, but a spiritual discipline walked out in the strength of your own flesh is a set up for religious futility. 

I felt like a failure on every front. An utter disappointment to my God and my folks, I was stuck in a volatile marriage with no coping skills except to drink the problems away and my kids – who desperately needed sane parents were stuck with … less than perfect people. As much as I longed to be a “good mom”, I was failing them too.

It was at this, my lowest place, that Jesus became more than a historical figure. My eyes were opened to see that He had come to bind up my broken heart and set me free from the captivity to sin & unhealthy choices.  

A scant two months later I found myself sitting towards the back of the Word of Life Christian Center in Honolulu, Hawaii. Worship was bumping and I was rejoicing when out of nowhere I had a bible “address” drop into my heart. I didn't recognize the verse, so I grabbed my bible and looked it up:

Psalm 118:17 ~ I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.

With that, a flood of memory washed over me as I marveled at God’s faithfulness. It was the night of my 27^th birthday – the one I was never supposed to see.

Yesterday I celebrated my fortieth birthday. When my Stephie called me old, I all but shouted - "That's right, girl! The devil is a LIAR and each day I live is another day to kick him in the teeth!" 

I can scarcely believe I have been given the gift of FORTY! Thank you Jesus. 

For all of you praying parents out there – don’t give up! God is faithful; He doesn't ignore or overlook your labors of love. It may not look like it today, but keep praying, keep fasting! He WILL reveal himself to your lost kids.