For those of you that missed it (which was not many, judging by the myriads of facebook wall-posters), I turned 28 yesterday.  One of the first things that my lovely bride said to me that morning was: “Wow, you’re just firmly in the late-twenties now.  I mean, 27 is kind of on the line, but 28 is no question.”  Thanks, babe.  Why don’t you call me grandpa while you’re at it.

It actually set me thinking, though.  Being in my late twenties doesn’t sound like a bad thing right now, which is a radical thing for me.  Usually I have this foreboding sense of life slipping through my fingers, but this year I don’t.  This year, I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing.  I have such a sense of fulfilment and satisfaction to be putting my hand to what is, as far as I know right now, my life’s work.  It’s not all roses and it’s not even that impressive, but it’s our adventure with God and I love it.

And so today, I’m proud to be firmly in my late twenties and there isn’t anything else I would rather be doing.

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