30

  I suppose I'll let the immortal words of Tim McGraw sum everything up:



  30 seemed like a pretty big deal a few years ago.  I suppose most of that was because everyone always talked about 30 being the age when you left your youth behind and entered into an age of responsibility.  Fortunately, I don't have to worry about ever leaving my youth behind--I'm destined to have the maturity of a 13 year old for the rest of my life.

  Rachel and I discussed how we were going to celebrate 30 when I was busy turning 29.  (We like to dream about the future.  And, in the last year of your twenties, one can't help looking ahead to what looms in the distance like a plague of locusts.)

  Then we got pregnant.  (And by we, I mean she.  Pregnancy is totally something we do as a couple, and we went through the adventure together.  But, let's be honest.  I was doing triathlons all summer while she was putting on 30 pounds and wasn't allowed to do ab exercises and had trouble walking a long way without getting worn out.  She gets 99% of the credit for being pregnant.  I get 1% for not doing anything stupid enough like making comments on her weight gain that would have legally entitled her to kill me in 47 states.)

  Suddenly, 30 didn't seem like such a big deal.  30 seemed like a small mark in comparison to the new adventure we were going to be taking.  I was certainly closing the door on something, but it wasn't what I thought I would be leaving behind--I thought I would leave behind my youth with wailing and gnashing of teeth.  Instead, I left behind a worldview primarily centered on myself (I'd love to say it was centered on Christ, but I'd be lying.  I'm as broken and sinful as, well, anybody, I suppose.) and entered a new world, one where a child weighing less than 10 pounds who can't control his arms is the single most wonderful thing in my life.  My birthday seemed so insignificant compared to his life.

  Now, this isn't to say that we didn't celebrate my birthday in grand style.  (Scallops, anyone?  I've got a few milk stouts left, too.)

  What it is to say is that I see myself through a different lens now.  Now, I'm a father, who's primary responsibility is to his son, to ensure that he knows he is loved and valued and treasured by me as well as God.  Where I once wondered about the mark I would make on the world, now I wonder about the mark I will make on my son.  I'm still dreaming about what God has in store for me, and I'm not giving up yet, but I have another responsibility which excites me in a way that no challenge has before--I get to introduce the world to my son, and in so doing, I look forward to seeing life through his eyes.

  So I'm 30.

  In other, much bigger news, I'm a dad.