Birthday blessings to you, Charity

If you asked me on almost any given day how old our children are, I would have no idea. If that worries you, let me explain: I’m usually not sure how old I am, either. Of course I paid attention to such things when the children were living under our roof. I knew how many months were left before the next one departed for kindergarten. I knew how many weeks until we had another new driver in the family. And, of course, I knew exactly how many more days our graduating senior would ride in the car pool with me.

None of our children have lived with us for nearly a decade, though. (Eight years to be exact. I think.) And our daily lives are no longer tied so closely together. Because of that, I measure things differently now.

I measure by conversations. I remember every one we’ve had in the last few months. And by Coming Events such as another trip to where they live, a gathering of grandchildren for cousins’ camp, a family reunion that gets everyone under one roof for at least 24-hours. Or even a video chat to catch me up with daily details of their lives. (and to see the grandchildren)

Evidently, our youngest child is hitting a milestone this weekend. (I won’t mention which one. The adult milestones generally start at 21, so I’ll just tell you it’s beyond that.) And as much as I hope to keep better track of her age since I’ve been reminded of it again, I’m sure I won’t. By October, I’ll need to pull out a calculator and do a word problem to figure it out.

But ask me where she is in life and I’ll have an answer. I’ll tell you about her handsome husband and the unexpected friends they are finding in the film world. I’ll tell you about her motherhood which manifests in a style I’d never have dreamed of and which I deeply admire. I will tell you about her worship and how she takes people with her when she soars.

Ask me any of those things, and I can tell you. Because, I measure things differently now.