The Threshold of 40

February 2, 2026

This month, I turn 40.

Not just a new decade. Not just another birthday.
But a crossing.

Scripture has trained my eyes to see the number forty differently. In the Bible, 40 marks a pattern—testing, refinement, and then commissioning. It is the space between what was and what will be. Long enough to cost you something. Short enough to be purposeful. Never random. Never wasted.

When I look back over my life with that lens, the pattern becomes impossible to ignore.

Before renewal, rain fell for forty days and nights. Before freedom could be fully lived, Israel wandered forty years in the wilderness—not because God forgot them, but because slavery had to be unlearned. Fear itself was given forty days to show its face as Goliath taunted Israel, until deliverance finally stepped forward.

I recognize those seasons.

Becoming a wife taught me that love is sustained not by emotion, but by covenant. Becoming a mother required the surrender of my body, my time, my ambitions—for lives entrusted to me. There were years of living closing to closing, carrying responsibility heavier than rest, faith stretched thin but never broken. Seasons when provision felt uncertain, obedience costly, and clarity delayed.

Like the wilderness, those years revealed what comfort never could. They showed me where I relied on myself—and where I had no choice but to rely on God.

And then came the refinement.

In Scripture, refinement is often quiet. Moses spent forty days and nights on Mount Sinai, alone with God, before receiving the Law. Elijah walked forty days to Mount Horeb, depleted and discouraged, only to encounter God not in fire or wind, but in a whisper.

That whisper changes you.

Over time, God stripped away who I thought I had to be to be valuable. He refined my motives, softened sharp edges, slowed my pace. He taught me presence over perfection as a mother. Partnership over performance as a wife. Listening over fixing as a sister and friend. Conviction over comfort as an ally. Service over status as an agent.

What survived the fire is what was always meant to remain.

And then—commissioning.

In Scripture, commissioning never comes before the wilderness. Nineveh was given forty days to repent before judgment. Jesus fasted forty days in the wilderness before His public ministry began—sonship tested before service revealed. After the resurrection, Jesus remained with His disciples for forty days, grounding their faith and preparing them before sending them out.

Preparation always precedes purpose.

Now I understand that God has been positioning me all along.

He has trusted me with people’s stories—homes layered with history, transitions carrying grief, hope, fear, and courage all at once. He has placed me in spaces where integrity matters more than recognition, where stewardship outweighs status. He has given me influence not to collect power, but to serve faithfully.

Turning forty does not feel like becoming someone new. It feels like finally standing fully in who I have already been shaped to be.

There is clarity now. Discernment. A deeper capacity to love without losing myself. To lead without striving. To build with patience instead of urgency.

Biblically, forty is never the destination. It is the threshold.

After the rain came the rainbow. After the wilderness, the promised land. After the taunting, the giant fell. After the fast, ministry began. After the waiting, the Church was sent.

So I step into forty anchored, not anxious. Humbled, but unafraid. Grateful for what was, attentive to what is, and ready for what’s ahead.

Because Scripture makes this clear:
what comes next is not accidental.

It is commissioned.

And I am ready to walk it—tested, refined, and sent.