A Thought for the Day - September 4, 2023
43... an unassuming prime number, it stands as a quiet testament to my journey through time. In its own way, it embodies the essence of middle age, as do the lines etched upon my face, each telling a story of decades lived.
Most of my adult life social media has been a thing. I think I signed up for Facebook shortly after being married, so around 17 years ago. It is interesting to have a record of my aging that is so public. And to see year after year, people wishing me a happy birthday.
I still vividly recall my first birthday in Georgia, a sun-soaked affair by the pool at Terry and Jan Bundies'. Amidst the laughter and cheer, friends gifted me with caps (exclusively Georgia Bulldog caps), playfully insisting that I needed more than just my trusty “California hats.” I was turning 28.
By the time I turned 39, I found myself celebrating with a cake adorned with a cluster of candles resembling a small bonfire. It was a lighthearted gesture by my in-laws, and we all shared a relieved chuckle as we extinguished the cake-turned-campfire before any true danger loomed.
When I was turning 40 we were in the throes of pandemic. A couple of months later a friend texted me saying, “When are you turning 40, and what are we doing for it?” I let me him know I turned 40 a couple of months earlier and I enjoyed it with my family.
Yesterday I preached on my birthday. There was a lone balloon where I sit during the service and the congregation sang for me at the beginning of the service. For a celebration, my family each made something for dinner that I had asked them to prepare. I made sure I was helping in the kitchen the whole time, as that meant I got to spend time with each child, my wife, my father-in-law.
With my daughter we made a carrot cake. It is my grandmother’s recipe (my dad’s mom, and maybe older than that for all I know), my mother made it, and I don’t even like any other carrot cake I’ve ever had, but I love that one. Something about making it with my daughter evoked a sense of connection to ancestors long gone.
My son made his steak. The first time he made it he was so proud for trying, so nervous to ruin such an expensive cut of meat. It was amazing. My children often tease that I'm sparing with compliments. When their mother says something is amazing they will go ask dad, because dad is hard to impress. I don’t know if that is true, but when I tried his first attempt and told him, “This is the second best steak I’ve ever had,” it made him beam. He’s only improved since that day.
My wife and I collaborated on a sumptuous, creamed spinach dish, and I offered my assistance. Meanwhile, my father-in-law crafted a delightful potato dish with mushrooms, and I savored the opportunity to learn from his culinary wisdom. Cooking together allowed us to deepen our bonds, sharing stories and laughter. (Although if my cholesterol was tested today the doctors might think I have little time left!)
As my birthday drew to a close, by 9 PM, I was thoroughly exhausted. My back ached from hours at the pulpit and in heartfelt conversations before and after church, as well as the time spent in the kitchen. My soul was tired from the energy poured into my sermon, and my body seemed to echo the exhaustion. Today, I remain in bed, feeling as weary as if I'd partied like it was my 21st birthday.
Amidst the simplicity of my birthday celebration, countless well-wishers reached out to me. I've always been somewhat bad in reciprocating them, but I appreciate these gestures more deeply each year. To all of you who took a moment to say 'Happy Birthday,' send a card, leave a note on social media, send a text, or even make a call – thank you. Feeling celebrated is a beautiful gift. While I may not be as adept at reaching out, please know that every thought of you in my heart is a celebration of you as well. Thank you for giving me so much to celebrate.
With gratitude,
Garrett