Tomorrow, I turn thirty-two.

I just realized that, not only is my birthday on the sixteenth of September, but this is my sixteenth blog post. And if I were to divide the years of my life in half, I would also get the number sixteen. (Finding patterns in numbers reassures me that life makes sense.)

Recently, there has been duckweed multiplying in our lake, and as I’ve looked outside the windows, I’ve been reflecting on the overall scenery in my life.

I can’t remove the duckweed from the water, just like I can’t remove most of the larger obstacles in my life. There have been challenges that I’ve worked hard, prayed hard, and sacrificed my well-being to remove. I’ve assumed that, if I remained positive and learned from my mistakes, I’d get what I hoped for. But I can’t always work, pray, sacrifice, laugh, or think the obstacles in my life away. Sometimes, they are here for a while. And often, they can bring meaning to my life–if I let them. They might help me to learn patience, inspire me to create, leave me with an important story to tell, or help me to understand the pain that others feel.

I hadn’t anticipated the duckweed in the lake this month. Sometimes, I forget–then remember the hard way–that the scenery won’t always match my expectations for it. I thought that I’d be a mother by now. It was a little daunting for me to realize that I could have been a biological mother for the last half of my life; many women throughout history have had a baby at sixteen, including my great-grandmother. But despite the fact that my life hasn’t followed the progression that I expected it to, I have many things to be grateful for. And I’m finally glad to be where I am in life.

My neighbors told me that, just about every year, duckweed appears in the lake. Eventually, it disappears–often flushed away by a heavy rain–but it is a natural occurrence that can’t be prevented. As I pondered that, I realized that I’d like to focus my energy on embracing (rather than trying to prevent) the regular changes in scenery that occur. There will be good days and bad days, clear days and murky days, but each one can be a gift: whether it reveals a beautiful landscape or it encourages me to be more patient and compassionate.

The scenery at sixteen wasn’t great. Last year’s outlook was better than the one before it. I don’t know what to expect this year. I’m feeling nervous and uncertain yet hopeful and excited as I prepare to look out the window at thirty-two.