On This, The Eve Of My 31st Birthday

"Can I get a do-over?" the little girl asked her mom, and waited to hear her response.

"A do-over?" her mom questioned, puzzling at where she'd learned the expression, at what had prompted her to want the chance to repeat a bit of life, to change what she'd done previously.

"Yes, a do-over," she repeated, making it quite certain she'd known what she was asking.

"Why would you want a do-over, honey?" her mom asked. "Do you regret something you already did? Are you scared about what is to come?"

The little girl thought for a little while. And when she was thinking, it was quite quiet, so the minutes passed, and her mom waited.

And after a little while, she answered.

"Yes mom," she said, "I do have regrets. There are moments I wish I would have done differently. There are choices I'd re-choose if I could. I've made mistakes. And I am scared about what is to come. I don't usually like that I can't see around the bend. But that's not why I'd want a do-over."

At this her mom was even more puzzled.

"Well then, my darling, why do you want a do-over?"

"I want a do-over," the little girl went on, "Because life has been so good. If I could - for even a moment - rewind and watch my life... the people I've loved, the Saturday morning breakfasts, the places I've seen, the bowls of ice cream in summer, and pasta before a big race, and chili on a snowy day, the birthday parties and pets I've loved, and Christmas morning cinnamon rolls, the church camp roommates and college roommates and graduate school roommates and so much late night laughter, the feel of hugs from you and Dad, the Fall colors, the sacred knowings of my bestest friends, the weddings and bike rides and mountaintops reached and waterfalls seen and the moments that can only be fully shared and understood by my sisters..."

And as she went on, her voice got louder, her eyes lighting up and she stared off into the space of remembering....

"The boys I've liked, the men I've loved, the fears I've faced, the hills I've climbed, the steps I've danced, the first job and first kiss and first apartment all on my own and first nephew and first niece and first day of school," and then she paused,

"But it's not just the good stuff Mom, or even all the 'firsts,'" she said, though it seemed like maybe she was realizing it herself as she spoke, "There's been lots of lasts ... too many...the last day with my childhood pet, the last sight of one of my favorite people, the last time we all slept in the same house. There's been hard stuff, you know? But, strangely, it's all the hard stuff too, all the ways the hardest moments of my life have been inextricably knit together with the best moments, so that I've learned never to despair ... even when it's so dark you can't imagine sunrise. I've learned how to endure winter, trusting in summer. I've learned, Mom. I've learned so much from the hard stuff. And somehow, in the end, there's still good ... even in the hard stuff."

And by now, her mom was quiet, looking at her little girl, wondering at how grown up she'd become, wondering at how much growing she still had left to do.

But it wasn't just her mom. As she spoke, the little girl realized, too, that she wasn't so little anymore. She sat there, all full to the brim with memories, knowing too that those were just the highlights. There were days, weeks, months, and years full of ordinary moments she'd lived that she didn't remember, moments that had accumulated like snowfall, one after the other, to build a great big beautiful life.

She looked down at her hands and realized that they were the hands of a woman, and had her stories in them. They held the callouses from hours of playing harp, the scar from that cut from her old refrigerator she'd gotten during one of her many moves, the thousands of words typed as she'd pressed on toward her degree. They weren't sticky with popsicle juice anymore, didn't have dirt under the nails from playing in the backyard.

And then she looked at herself in the mirror. Wrinkles spread out from the corners of her eyes, etchings of laughter carved into the wall of her soul. Her hair was no longer fine and straight, like it had been she was little. And the mole on her cheek had faded since childhood.

"Huh," she thought, looking at the woman in the mirror. "Well hello, you," she spoke to herself.

And at that, she turned around, certain of just a few things.

One, she'd still love that do-over, would love to watch her life like a movie.

Two, knowing what she knew now, there were a few things she would've changed.

Three, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that rather than wasting time on regret, her energy was much better spent living fully in today.

Four, she also knew that all of her life, the good and the bad, had brought her to this moment, and none of it was wasted. It all served a purpose because God has this amazing capacity to make all things new, to bring beauty from pain and good from evil.

Five, every day, full of opportunity, is a do-over. We write the stories of life in this moment.

Six, she wasn't as afraid of the unknowns any more.

Seven, but she was still a little afraid of them.

Eight, she'd been loved so much.

Nine, she'd loved so much.

Ten, and that had made all the difference.

And then she realized one other thing...although she'd grown into a woman, that little girl was still inside her and would remain there her whole life through. And that's why -- when she celebrated her birthday with her friends, and they gave her a crown -- she wore it ... just like she'd worn that paper crown at Burger King 25 years ago, celebrating her 6th birthday, with her friend Jenny.

Because this she also knew: no matter how old you get, life is too short to turn down a crown on your birthday.