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I think I’ll take a moment to celebrate my age. The ending of an era, and the turning of a page. Now it’s time to focus on where I go from here. Lord, have mercy on my next thirty years.

Fitting words from the man who gave me a private concert two weeks ago. Never mind the thousands of other people that happened to be in the Rose Quarter with me at the same time in Portland that night. He really did sing right to me the entire time. No lie. He accidentally called me Faith a few times, but he has a cover to maintain. I’ll forgive him… this time.

The Tim McGraw concert | girls’ weekend getaway was the perfect kick-off to my 30th birthday weekend, and I couldn’t have asked for better company.

We started at a good friend’s downtown apartment with the most gorgeous views:

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Yep, that’s me sandwiched in between two sparkly brides-to-be. Incidentally, I’m doing Jordann’s (on the left) engagement photos this weekend in the penthouse of her apartment building, so you’ll be seeing more of that breathtaking view (and beautiful face) very soon! But we didn’t stay long because Tim was waiting for me. And we soon found ourselves here:

I promise I’m usually more reserved than this… Ok, maybe not. But girlfriends and great music just bring something out in me.

And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. Tim blew me a kiss goodbye, tipped his signature black cowboy hat, and disappeared into the night. I know he misses me already.

In between then and now, I hit that magic number that has been so far off for so long, and then just showed up out of nowhere. The number that somehow changes everything and nothing all at the same time. I’ll admit, I couldn’t be happier to be out of my 20s. But I’d be lying if a small part of me still has some semblance of the adolescent mentality that 30 is… old. Even if I know it’s not. However, it does mean that I really am further from my college days than I’d like to think. It means that I’m officially and unequivocally an adult with responsibilities, never ending to do lists, and a mortgage payment. And most of our friends live at least a few hours away.

However, just over a week ago, a dozen of them made their way over to Bend for an epic celebratory weekend that I will remember… well… until I can’t remember things anymore.

We laughed. We danced. We made spaghetti at 1am. And we talked until our voices were nearly gone. These friends (as well as many who couldn’t make it) have had so much impact in my life. We all met in college, part of a very large, and thriving college ministry. And one by one, we coupled off. We’ve known each other so long that we’ve become family. And as everyone gathered at 10 Below on that Friday night, the stories started. The kind of stories that have been re-told a million times, but you never get tired of. Stories of deer hooves and chaps. Mullet hunting and jet skis. Laughing because a late night then was 3am, and now we’re tired at 10. Remembering the moments when friendships turned into romances. And who caught the bouquet at which wedding. And who was mad that they didn’t.

After all, that’s the stuff that life’s made of. To all my friends, thanks for making the trip. It blessed me more than you know. And let’s be honest, welcoming a new decade of life with someone like this to kiss me makes it that much sweeter:

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