36

Today is my last day to be 36.

I remember turning 36 a year ago. Greg bought me coral Kate Middleton jeans and we went to Cafe Terrace for strawberry-nutella crepes. I was glowing because I was a few weeks pregnant. We grilled margherita pizzas for dinner and I made a list in my red notebook that night itemizing what I needed to do to the house to fit a baby in it.

Tomorrow I turn 37 and we are grilling margherita pizzas once again. I get whatever I want tomorrow due to the double whammy of my birthday falling on Mother's Day and that means blueberry pomegranate juice at breakfast and ripped basil and balsamic drizzle on my pizza at dinner. I also requested a bag of Cheetos and a box of Swiss Cake Rolls. Hey, it's my one day to go wild.

Between my 36 pizza and my 37 pizza a lot has happened.

Big stuff, like a miscarriage and a failed in-vitro and a trip to Paris. Medium stuff, like my first tastes of pho, bone marrow, and salmon. Little stuff, like finding this Israeli brand of shoe called NAOT that makes the comfiest sandal I've ever worn.

It was the hardest year of my life. It was also the best year of my life.

Between 36 and 37 it was undeniable that my Heavenly Father was watching over me. I have never been more sure that He knows me personally and has a plan for me. Many, many people were instruments in the Lord's hands in my behalf.

Between 36 and 37 I was floored by the goodness of all those people in my life. I'm talking about real magnificence that caused me to record this in my personal journal:

The miracle continues. I am having a George Bailey moment. The love and strength I am receiving is unfathomable.

A few pages past the get-ready-for-baby list in the red notebook I made a list of people that reached out to me after the miscarriage and the failed IVF. That list was well over 100 people long. I still don't understand why someone like me, someone ordinary with a bag of worries as heavy as the bags most people carry, received non-stop reaches and constant showers of love for nearly a year. Never again will I underestimate the power of a small gesture received at one's tipping point. Small drops certainly do form great landscapes.

My 36 heart broke a few times. After it broke it sat in the generous puddle of love and kindness that over 100 people created. As life's irony would have it those breaks were the passageways the excess love seeped in through. If I learned nothing else this year I learned that hard times can work for our good if we let them.

After my heart soaked up others' goodness it was strong enough to shoot down roots and unfurl upward tendrils. I suspect that 36 could have caused me to fade but somehow it forced me to flourish. I am trying to pay the flourish forward. It is easier to do so when people cry outloud. I'm not so great at secretly guessing who needs help.

I can't imagine needing a single thing for 37. I'm staked, supported, soaked, and stronger. In other words, I'm set.

*Photo of RE's and my table at Blue Lemon, where we routinely pop in for two cake bites after school. It never ceases to amaze me how a small, overpriced portion of chocolate eaten in the company of another girl can drastically improve things.