Something was out of sync. I was getting more in touch with Jesus, knowing his heart, loving him more, feeling the energy that comes from staying close to him. I felt alive and bouncy and bright, like an Easter dress.


But along came work. And more work. And family stuff. And I started short changing my sleep, fretting a bit more. Grumpiness appeared. Or at any rate, the smiles disappeared. I felt like an old penny, its shine long destroyed. I started to look like the man on the penny too. (No, just kidding. I don’t have a beard. Yet.)


And then my birthday rolled around. I hate it when my birthday comes and I’m feeling poor and cheap and sorry for myself, because then I don’t want anyone to buy me anything. But this year, I wanted to really mean it when I said to friends and family, “You are my birthday gift, the very best gift possible.” I do mean that…but I also like toys: a sparkly top, a pair of glitzy earrings, perfume, dark chocolate. Girl stuff.


The heat index was stupidly high for June, and we decided to have my little birthday gathering in the only air-conditioned room in the house, our former garage. Believing to some extent in the motto “Fake it until you make it,” I mustered up some pseudo good attitude, hauled tables and chairs, carried the silver and plates and glasses and pitchers of water and all the other accoutrements for a celebration meal down the stairs. I swatted
mosquitoes and snipped flowers for low arrangements from our straggly, struggling gardens, then, as this was a combo birthday– Father’s Day celebration, ran upstairs to wrap a few presents for the two fathers in the crowd.


Flopping on...