Now that I am about to be 42 in the next couple of hours, I think about where my mom was at the same age.

Mom had been married for nearly 20 years.  She lived 700+ miles from her parents, and had two children around the ages of 16 and 13.  She taught elementary school and chauffeured us around to the multitude of activities in which we were involved.

I’ve never been married and do not have children.  I have never owned my own home and have lived in multiple cities in the past 20 years, including a city 1000 miles away and some towns much closer.

I always saw Mom as an adult, and she always seemed mature for her age.  I’m pretty sure that Mom has always seen me as a 16 year old, and I probably have a mild version of the Peter Pan complex.

Part of me wished I had the life of my mom at the age of 42.  She had a supportive marriage and two children.  Things seemed “normal” and “ordinary.”  She followed a path taken by most people and it brought her much joy.

But my life didn’t work out that way.  And that’s just fine.

I have a phenomenal life of love, friendships and purpose.  I birth sentences and paragraphs, sit with people as they begin to transition to  the other side of heaven, and embrace adventures.  Predictability is not the life for which I enrolled, and in the chaotic moments on this path less travelled, I have seen the presence of God quite frequently along the way.

My mom’s adult life path and mine diverged at some point – maybe around our early 20’s.  But our paths are equally valuable and sacred, whether we spent our days mothering our own children or the children of the world.

Thanks, Mom, for all that work you did for me 42 years ago… And since then.