Twenty-eight.

Today is my birthday. I am now 28 years old.

As I have been sorting through piles and piles of photos in the evening, I have been trying to remember what I projected my 28th year would be like when I was younger.

1992.

When I was 12, I wanted to be veterinarian. Or an author, looking at a pile of books with my name on them.

1998.

At 18, “artist” came into the picture — in the future I would surely have a studio filled with big canvasses.

2003.

At 22, a Ph.D. in history seemed moderately likely.

Self portrait.

Last year, I wanted 28 to involve a new job for Josh, some illustration projects, and some things that haven’t happened yet.

You know the really fabulous thing, though? Nothing I’d imagined was as good as what I got. I’d trade an art studio for our little apartment any day, and I’m so glad that I’m not wading through a thesis on medieval history right now. My younger self couldn’t even imagine a husband who stayed up late to pack a special birthday lunch (and even stuck in a dollar bill for a soda).

At the rate things are going, I think 28 is going to be great.

(Family: the photo at the top is the incredibly dorky one I mentioned at dinner on Sunday. Wow.)

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10 thoughts on “Twenty-eight.

  1. Happy birthday! I really enjoyed the photos :) Many blessings that God has for us are so wonderful and unexpected aren’t they? Thank you for the encouraging post… I find myself wondering what the next years hold in store for me.

  2. Loved the pictures on flickr, but they are even better with the story. Glad you had a good day. I’m stoked for peanut butter pie on Friday;)

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