But even though it’s his birthday, I won’t talk about how I know he’s getting older. I will simply say that I have come to the shocking realization that I am.

Actually, I’ve been looking forward to becoming old as long as I can remember. First it was the typical stuff like learning to drive a car and being able to “do whatever I want” (which still hasn’t ever really seemed to materialize, but whatever…)

Then I became uniquely eager to donate blood at age 17 and drive a 15-passenger van at 25. I don’t know why, but I was way more excited than the average person about these milestones.

But really, my desire to age hasn’t waned. I looked forward to my 30’s because I thought people might start taking me seriously (also yet to really materialize, but who knows…). But I also look forward to that glorious day when I can say whatever I want and people will just laugh and shake their heads. “That Sarah. She’s so old,” they’ll say.

However, aging is not really going as expected. In fact, I recently had three startling revelations that I’m aging: 

I found myself not changing the station when a varicose vein treatment commercial came on. In fact, I was listening intently thinking, “Hmmm… younger looking legs?”

I was certain I had behind-the-knee cancer when I first discovered the squishy lump. I was both relieved and horrified when my midwife barely looked up and said, “Oh, that’s just a vericose vein. It may go away after the baby’s born. Then again, it may not!” she told me cheerfully. 

I turned down Chick-fil-A because we had plans after dinner. Basically, no matter how much I like the original chicken sandwich, my body simply can’t process all that salty, processed goodness like it used to. I eat my nuggets and then I really need a nap. 

The eyes are the first to go. I have had 20/15 vision for as long as I can remember. I also hadn’t had an eye test in as long as I can remember. But hey, I don’t have problems, so why go looking for trouble?

Well, because I discovered I have vision insurance that I’ve never used, so I thought, “Why not?” After all, I do gaze at a computer screen for an obscene number of hours a day. It’d be good to check in with my eyes.

I have rarely experienced the vulnerability of being asked to read a simply string of letters and seeing only blurry spots. I was saying things, but she didn’t confirm if I was correct or not. All I know, is in the end I don’t yet need glasses, but my vision is no longer 20/15.

I guess the good news is I won’t be able to see my non-young looking legs in coming days. And thankfully, it seems my friends and family are aging with me, so it should all work out.

Do you ever notice that you’re getting older? What gave it away? Oh, and did you or did you not catch the dctalk shout out in the title?

P.S. Curious how the cake turned out? Here's a photo. Please ignore the rogue strawberries sliding down into the moat of jam and icing. I kept removing them from the edges and more just kept sliding off. But it was tasty! (And that's what counts, right?) Thanks for all your suggestions and tips! 

Next weekend is Billy’s birthday. It’s not a major milestone or anything, but we’ve been preparing for weeks. The bounce house has been secured. Corn hole sets requested. The lawn mowed and the fire pit prepared.

Billy has been preparing the menu as he plans to make his famous traditional tacos. Well... famous might be an exaggeration, but he did used to own a taco cart in Guatemala. He’d set himself up on the college campus and catch all the late-night crowd coming out of class or the library.

He’s also planning on frijoles volteados (Yum! My favorite… the Guatemalan refried black beans.) And I’m pushing for him to make guacamole because his homemade is just so tasty.  

So I need to deal with the cake. This is where I need your help.

Our first married celebration of Billy’s birthday, I knew he loved strawberry cake. So I bought some fresh strawberries, some shortcake, and some whipped cream. When I served it to him and his family, you can imagine my newlywed disappointment when they all asked me, “What is this?”

It went from awkward to worse when I explained strawberry shortcake and then took a bite to discover the shortbread was stale. (One of the real frustrations of the lower quality food often sold at urban grocery stores.)

So it turns out that Billy loves strawberry cake , which I have since learned is different than strawberry shortcake. I don’t know that this is truly a cultural difference as much as a childhood difference.

But I’m open to suggestions. This is by no means a cooking blog… mainly because all I have to contribute to that conversation is how to preheat an over for frozen pizza. But I’d love any strawberry cake recipies you’ve tried. I gotta make one this weekend, friends!

Also, I’d love to know your sweet gestures (or those gone awry) for a loved one!

When God’s children are in need, be the one to help them out. And get into the habit of inviting guests home for dinner or, if they need lodging, for the night. 
Romans 12:13

Photo credit: Kate Ambrose Pollard

Reading this verse during the I Was A Stranger Challenge, I was reminded of something else I've read. “According to the Billy Graham Center, less than one in ten immigrants will ever be welcomed into the home of an American.” This startling fact that has been haunting me for months.

In conversation with a friend, she made a comment that has also stuck with me. She wondered how many Christians have actually been inside the home of anyone of a different race… immigrant or not.

I can’t stop thinking about these observations.

And then part of the verse jumped out at me: get into the habit of inviting guests home for dinner.

I started thinking about how we may quietly steer clear of cross-cultural relationships because we’re afraid, nervousness of doing “the wrong thing,” or it just seems more complicated. What if they don’t like my food? What if they judge my lifestyle or it makes them uncomfortable? What if… What if… What if…

It may seem easier to simply extend our invitations to people who we understand… who are like us.

I was reminded of one of my first summers living in an urban, African American neighborhood. At a barbeque, a little girl asked me to help her with her hair. I treated it like I do my own. When a big clump of hair fell out of her ponytail onto the ground, I panicked!

She assured me, “It’s just weave!” But I really didn’t know exactly what that meant. And I didn’t know if weave was re-useable… So I made this little girl stuff it in the pocket of her shorts to take home to her mom.

Now I laugh at the ridiculousness of this encounter because I’m pretty sure  I should have just thrown it away. Although if I’m honest, I still don’t really know. However, this incident would not be my last encounter with weave.

A couple years later, I entered my friend’s dorm room and found her mom taking out microbraids. I offered to help in the painstakingly tedious process. As I combed out the first miniature braid, I was left holding a handful of weave. This time, I did not panic. (I may have asked tentatively… “This is not your hair… right?”)

Experience. Practice. Get into the habit of.

I’m not suggesting that you experiment with cross-cultural relationships, treating people like projects or asking a bunch of cultural questions that you’ve been wondering to someone who is basically a complete stranger. No.

Rather, I’m saying get into the habit of initiating relationships with people that are different than you. Treat them with respect. Listen to what they say. And you will naturally learn so much.

I think for me language has been the biggest challenge. As you might expect, I find myself in all-Spanish environments semi-regularly. Whether its with family, Billy’s co-workers or at the soccer field, I hate feeling like I’m perceived as quiet and serious because I don’t talk much and just nod and smile.

At the same time, the more often this scenario has happened, the less awkward I feel. I have become more relaxed and can rest in the moment, allowing language to swirl around me. I don’t need to know what’s happening every moment. I can just enjoying being with others. (And when I feel brave, I can bust out my español.)

I know these relationships have brought me more new experiences and laughter than discomfort. I refused to eat guacamole due to texture until Billy made some at home and begged me to try… game changer! I was told how to properly eat with my hands by a woman from India. And I even sang the national anthem of France (in French) with Billy’s Guatemalan grandmother…

It may not become habit right away. But with practice, you will grow in your understanding of cultures and in your depth of relationships. It is well worth any initial nervousness or misunderstanding or confusion.

And eventually, whatever is your equivalent of “stray weave” won’t cause you to panic.

Have you been in the home of someone of a different background? Have you invited someone into your home? Have you found cross-cultural relationships becoming easier with practice?