Last weekend, my 27th birthday came and went. Yes, twenty-seven. I know that isn't very old, but at the same time, it is. I'm an adult. *gulp* Sure, I can maybe hang on to being "mid-twenties" one more year, but next year, it's late-twenties, with thirty fast approaching.
I remember when I was younger, hearing those "old folks" say that they didn't feel a day over 18. Now, I understand them. Clearly.
Sometimes, I am a little surprised when someone comes up and starts talking to me like an adult. I still gravitate towards the "kid's table" at holiday dinners, and I still don't recognize myself as one of the "grown ups" the kids are talking about. Those urges to play in the rain, jump on the bed, sing on the top of my lungs while I'm driving in the car with the windows down, add sugar to everything, and scare the crap out of an unsuspecting person---they are all still so vividly alive.
I don't feel a day over 18. My knees do, but I don't.
Now, don't misunderstand me. I love being a grown-up, and I would never, NEVER go back to being a teenager (oh, those awkward, hormonal years!). The last few years that have come and gone have been such a growing experience in my walk with Christ, and every year passing is a year closer to Him. (And, hopefully, always another year wiser.) I wouldn't change that for the world.
Just don't be surprised if you find me playing in a mud puddle every now and then.