There comes a day in life when we begin to think in decades rather than days, or months, or years.

Four decades ago, I was in school.
Three decades ago, I married the person I am taking this journey called "life" with.
Two decades ago, I was in the throes of a first career, pastoring a church and trying to figure out how to be a Dad.
One decade ago, I was learning a language (and another line of work) in Central Asia.

But on this day, 2.7 decades ago, our lives changed because our son was born.

Something tangibly transforming happens when you have children. The transformation is internal and external. The next 18+ years are spent taking care of a life. Bringing up a life with the hope that they will be okay in a world that seems to become more neurotic every year.

Then they enter the global neurosis and have to make it on their own and we get to take a back seat and watch years turn into decades for them.

You realize, at some point, that you didn’t give them much to go on. They have to walk through the pain of the twitching, irrational, overwrought, ever-changing world on their own.

And hope they find the beauty that’s tangled up with the crazy.

My son turns 27 today. From where I sit, he’s doing a pretty great job sorting out the mess and walking in the weight of glory.

I’m proud of him. I’m grateful for grace.

Happy birthday, J.