With my 30th B-day fast approaching, this year on thanksgiving, I once again find myself thinking of John Milton:
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year! (or 30th) My hasting days fly on wtih full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, That I to manhood am arrived so near, And inward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th. Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven; All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye.
A long hard day has come to an end, almost.
And this word still rings in my ear. Trust in the lord with all thy heart and lean not on thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him and he shall direct thy path. Don't worry about tomorrow. He is alive. Come difficulty, sorrow, pain, stress, weariness, loneliness... All my heart will trust him today, and by his grace it will do so tomorrow.