I celebrated a birthday since my last post – one of those big, socially significant, decade birthdays. I didn’t really bat an eye. I went rock climbing with my family, ate seafood and shared a cake with my son-in-law whose birthday follows close on the heels of mine. It was fun. It was low-key. It was no big deal.

That’s not to say that the passage of time is not phasing me at all.

Clarissa got MARRIED recently, is about to finish nursing school and is unarguably a full-fledged, card carrying adult. She talks about bills and insurance and job interviews and eventually having kids. She’s amazing and full of all the grace, compassion and inner beauty that I could hope for. We are finding our way into a relationship as equals that adds a rich new layer to the history we have together as mother and daughter. It is different though.

Savannah will be twenty in a couple of weeks. That’s an especially strange thing to me. As long as I can still refer to an age that still ends with -teen, I can fool myself into thinking she’s still a kid. I know better though. She’s in her second year of college and her plans right now include a term of study abroad and eventually teaching English in Japan. Adventure is calling her further and further out into the world. I’m experiencing a vicarious adrenaline rush at the thought of challenges and excitement in store for her. And I already updated my passport.

So…my role? For the most part, I can set aside my duties as laundress, cook, tailor, taxi driver and social secretary. My kisses lost all their medicinal value long ago, not that they scrape knees and elbows all that often anymore. Even so, I’m still Mom. I hope that I am their sounding board, their touchstone, and their safe harbor for years to come. I hope we grow closer than ever as we pursue our dreams and walk the path God has in mind for us.

The birthday itself really isn’t that big a deal. Counting days, weeks and years doesn’t seem all that helpful. I’d rather measure my life by my faith, relationships and dreams.