My 39, Day 39.

Today I woke up with a spring in my step, and a crick in my neck.

I didn’t even care about the latter. Even though I had to thank my children through robotic like head gestures as we opened cards and presents, I felt only joy.

It had nothing to do with this being “my day” and everything to do with what inspired me to start this blog series in the first place.

Contentment. And moreso than any of the birthdays preceding this one, I am content.

I am not yet the size I want to be.

I don’t open my Bible as much as I should.

Our house still lacks a LOT in the way of home décor.

And I quite miss so many people, places and traditions from back home.

But sure as you remain steadfast in working toward the things that elude you, they start to appear.

This morning I put on one of those shirts that all women have in their closet. A surefire favorite until they saw a picture of themselves wearing it and were so horrified that they never put it on again. Well, that was in May at my Pi Beta Phi Farewell to the House/Reunion. After completing only three weeks of strength training, I tried it on again this morning with low expectations.

Jaw drop. And til death do us part, Body Pump. I freaking love you.

My Bible study is still lackluster. Amy Calhoun Parker I think of our studies often and hope to find a small group to plug into here! At least we’ve taken the first step. Last Wednesday, we formally joined a church home in Texas. It was extremely bittersweet for me, as I was certain my home church would be mine for earthly ever, from baptism to burial.

If I’m being honest with myself, I even held back here, trying to find petty faults with it instead of letting my faith journey flourish. But through that membership service last week, a bit misty eyed and with a lump in my throat, I signed the transfer of membership form, and am making a go of this new place, and God’s plans for me through it.

And the house! Our formal living room is technically the Hot Wheels room, with not a stick of grown up furniture in it. My dining room cushions bear witness to prior meals the kids have eaten there, and any dreams of draping them in new fabric are just that – dreams that are not yet up to budgetary bat.

But this place also has a laundry room that is a) not in my garage and b) not a pass through space (much love to the first two houses we had, but yay for a separate room and a door to hide the chaos).

And a garage! Not a one car garage that barely fits a lawnmower (and aforementioned washer/dryer), or a house with a converted garage that sounds like a good idea until it’s raining/sweltering/sleeting/snowing/hailing. But an actual garage with a neat-o little remote clicker button that opens and closes it automatically.

And no, it’s not like I’m that easily impressed. Just particularly thankful for these residential upgrades.

Some days, my heart positively aches for the people, places, and traditions I miss about my beloved Birmingham. It’s a funny thing when you move. You can feel like you are right where you belong but so disillusioned all at the same time.

Social media doesn’t make it any easier. Pictures of moments you and your children would be in too, had you not moved away.

But even while absence makes the heart grow fonder, I’m surer than ever that this is where we are meant to be. First friendships made here continue to strengthen, and new ones are helping me feel anchored, complete with inside jokes, girls’ nights and even a trip or two in the works.

“Oh that poor dear,” some may read this and think. “She thinks she has it made but her fill in the blank isn’t half as nice as mine.”

Maybe.

But I’m not living anyone else’s life. I’m living mine, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Happy Birthday to me.