February 25th, 1965. The day I was born. 100 years earlier, Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War were in their final days. But this day would be my first. Because 50 sounds like such a big number for an age, I have been jokingly saying I prefer to see it as 600 months.
For whatever reason, we measure a baby’s age in months up until they hit 24 of them. 600 months ago, the doctor turned me face down, patted my back firmly, but tenderly, and I coughed up the amniotic fluid that remained in my lungs from my development in the womb. I took my first breath. I was held by my mother for the first time.
480 months ago, I turned 10 years old. Finally, double digits. I could hold up two hands, with all fingers extended, to illustrate just how old I was. For me, this was a signifiant milestone on the road to being a man.
444 months ago, I turned 13. This is a number that, in any other context, has a negative stigma. But when it comes to the aging process, I’m a teenager! Life is going to change with the flip of the calendar! I was in 7th grade. I had my own locker and had to walk from class to class. No more sitting in one room all day, with one teacher. This was like college would be, except mom still had to drive me to school.
408 months ago, I turned 16. Look out, world! That learner’s permit would soon convert to a fully-fledged driver’s license! Possibilities were endless.
382 months and 21 days ago, on April 4, 1983, my life changed forever. This was the day that I willingly and wholeheartedly invited Jesus into my heart. It wasn’t done with any church fanfare. There was no music, no pastors or elders. I was alone in my bedroom. No emotional compulsion. It was the next step for me, and the time was now.
384 months ago, I officially became an adult! As significant a milestone as that is in the growing-up process, an ominous tone was set that I didn’t recognize at the time. Symbolically, perhaps, it was this day that I registered for selective service. The draft. In the event that our country went to war, and it would be necessary to supplement the existing personnel on active duty, I signed my name. Kind of a subtle welcome to the enormity of adulthood.
348 months ago, I was in bible college as I turned 21. Yes, while many of my peers were taking this opportunity to legally consume adult beverages until their bodies forced the contents back from whence they came, I was at the off-campus home of a fellow student, with a group of great friends, as they celebrated with me.
Up until this point, significant birthdays came about every 36 months. But when you turn 21, that gap begins to widen.
240 months ago, I exited my 20s. This was not a happy day. My mom was 29 years old when she had me. Now I’m 30. How did this happen so quickly?
204 months ago, I remember lamenting to my mother that I was now 33. This was the age when Jesus died. I saw this as some sort of sign that any hope of significance was now gone. That was when she gently, and wisely reminded me that this was also the same age when Jesus rose from the dead, and He rose to a whole new significance.
120 months ago, I turned 40. FORTY. I remember teasing my parents about being old geezers when they turned 40. Now I am that ancient. This was not a happy day, but again, I was blessed to ring it in with some great friends.
72 months ago, my mom sang Happy Birthday to me for the last time. 23 days later, she went to be with Jesus.
18 months and 17 days ago, God introduced me to the most wonderful woman. She captivated my mind and heart immediately.
12 months ago, Sarah-Jane came to visit me from Rhode Island to celebrate my birthday. What a special time we had. Introducing her to friends, family, seeing San Francisco, and sharing a sliver of my life with her. It was wonderful. It was also over 70 degrees the whole time. (What I wouldn’t give to have a 70 degree day right now.)
51 weeks and 3 days ago, I embarked on a cross country journey to New England. Leaving behind the people and memories the previous 588 months and 5 days held. But moving forward to pursue what lies ahead.
Today, I have no idea what specifically lies ahead of me. What I do know is that there will be wonderfully happy days, and there will be gut-wrenchingly difficult ones. The earthly life clocks for many will begin, and others will end. Even though there is no way to disguise my age to make it seem less than it is, I believe that by the mere fact that I am still drawing air into my lungs, there are still things to be done. Moments not to be missed. Lives to touch. Challenges to accept. Tears to cry. Joys to behold.
I’m quite certain that the months that have passed outnumber the ones I have yet to live. But whether it is one month, or hundreds, I press on knowing that life is a gift. The closest we get to immortality in this life is in inspiring and blessing others. The people who have come and gone in my 600 months live on in my heart and mind. Their influence lives on in my life because of the things they taught me. The things they gave me. I hope I have been a good steward of those thing by passing them on to others throughout my journey.
For today, the journey continues. For all of us.