I turn 40 today!
January 1.
Mary, Mother of God.
The beginning of a new year, and—at least interiorly—the beginning of a new season.
There’s a part of me that hopes this is the year I finally enter the Promised Land.
Not because the wilderness hasn’t mattered—it has—but because forty, biblically, is never random. Forty is formation. Forty is preparation. Forty is the long road that teaches you how to walk before you’re asked to cross.
Lately, I’ve had a growing sense that I’m standing at a threshold. Not emerging from something broken, but recognizing that the landscape ahead requires a different kind of attention. Less striving. More presence. Less explanation. More listening.
And interestingly, that clarity hasn’t come primarily through arguments or analysis.
It has come through place.
