my 39th birthday I lost some of my enthusiasm for celebrating my
special day, but I still prefer having them rather than not.
Of course, just like my
physical appearance, how I celebrate my birthday has changed over
the years. Many would consider my birthday celebrations boring.
After all, we don’t dine out at expensive restaurants or get
dressed up and go dancing until the wee hours. For the most part,
my recent birthday was like any other day, with the exception of
an invitation to dine at my brother’s house.
My sister-in-law, Kelly, and I
are exceptionally close, more like sisters than in-laws, and she’s
a wonderful cook, so all day long I looked forward to supper. The
meal was wonderful and all my family was there to sing a loud,
off-key version of Happy Birthday.
After we ate, Kelly asked my
youngest nephew, Jackson, to put the candles on my cake. Instead
of the box of pink candles she intended for him to choose, he dug
around in the drawer until he found the candles that are single
digits. When he carried the cake in I was surprised to learn that
I am 617 years old! Maybe a new wrinkle cream is in order, or
maybe the 617 just stood for what I was going to weigh after
eating too much.
We lit the candles and Jackson
blew them out. So Kelly relit them and then Price, Jackson’s older
brother, blew them out. I really didn’t care; my wishes were all
within hugging distance.
What some might consider a
boring birthday is really a blessed birthday. I realized this
mainly because of something my brother said to me several years
ago, during our mother’s terminal illness. We were driving back
from visiting Mom when my brother looked at me and said, "You
know, I used to complain about being in a rut, but not anymore.
Now I’d give anything for just another boring day."
The next time you blow out the
candles on your birthday cake, consider the options and thank God
for just another boring birthday!
Happy Thanksgiving from our house to yours.