When I graduated college at twenty-four years old with a husband and a toddler, I felt so old. Shouldn’t I have been finished by twenty-two? Apparently you don’t age dramatically between twenty-two and twenty-four, as I had imagined. As a young wife and mother, the timing was perfect for me and my family situation.
When I was told in my mid-twenties that you should have all your children before the age of thirty-five, that made sense because who would have babies when they were that old? Apparently I would. I delivered my three youngest children when I was thirty-five, thirty-seven, and thirty-nine. (Whoever decided on the label AMA — Advanced Maternal Age — for thirty-five-year-old pregnant women might have needed a course on sensitivity training in medical school.) My life would look radically different without those sweet blessings that joined our family when I was past the recommended age.
When I imagined my life beyond raising our eight children, I thought I would be too old to offer anything to the world, that I would be obsolete. Apparently those life experiences have given me something to say because I published my first book at age forty-nine and will have published six by the time I turn fifty-five next March. Sometimes it’s the knowledge we gain with time that fills our resume.
Have you believed the lie that you’re too old to make a difference or that your time has passed? Please join me today at (in)courage as we debunk that myth!
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