It has occurred to me recently that as I get older, so does everyone else, and that as I complete my third decade of earthly existence, others have completed their second. Sometimes it feels that we grow in age little by little; eighteen to nineteen, nineteen to twenty, and sometimes it feels like our age jumps while we were looking the other way; twenty-five to twenty-seven, twenty-seven to thirty. I am in the later category. I'm mean, just last week I was twenty-one...and then I went camping and woke up as a thirty-year-old. Craziness. The physical responses to camping are not, however, the only differences between twenty-one and thirty. As I listen to younger women converse about their dreams for marriage and children--which is almost always followed by the lament that there are no men to fulfil the husband's part of the covenant--there are a few things that I wish someone had told twenty-one year old me...things that I now offer to you. Now, there are two different ways