I turned thirty today.
Thirty. Thirty. THIRTY.
That feels a whole lot older than twenty-nine. I'm still not sure how it's going to roll off my tongue when I'm next asked my age. I may instinctively cough during my response. A nice little: thir-cough-ty. Or forget today and resort to a twenty-nine. But then again, maybe not.
It's not the number that bothers me so much, it's the years that are already gone. It's the reminder that there is so much to be done and yet, I have been able to do so little. It's the heaviness of knowing my ability isn't enough.
I have had a great life, but I know there's more. More healing, more hope, more life, more love, and more Jesus. I cannot live these next thirty like the last. I'm ready for MORE.
The restoration work we're involved with here is harder than anything I've ever encountered. We're working in the red light district with women, men, transsexuals, girls and boys who are salves in the sex industry. Who are sold as pieces of merchandise to be used and thrown away. I have come face-to-face with utterly horrific things in my first seven days. Things I cannot yet speak of. Things that keep me awake at night.
And that's where I stand today—on my thirtieth birthday. In a land of pain and horror. Amongst people who desperately need something MORE. And I am not the answer. But I know the One who is and I want to spend the rest of my days letting Him out.
A glimpse of the red light district in Phuket, Thailand.
