I had another birthday on Thursday. I crossed over from 46 to 47. This birthday’s a little different. This year the celebration of being alive happened May 11th instead of July 20th. Though I was not conscious at the time, my family and friends tell me they breathed a great sigh of relief that I was still alive after our eight car pile up in the mountains in Tennessee. Most birthday parties are not framed by the alternative. This year being alive to mark another year means that I am not dead.
The joke I’ve told is of waking up in the ICU; a dark room with a T.V. on. I knew the playoffs were on, but there was no way to change the channel. I wondered if I was alive or had died and gone to hell! When I complained to the nurse, she said to just keep pushing that morphine button and everything would be fine. I said, “Yea, but will it change the channel?”
Ever since about 40, my birthdays have been a time to stop and take stock; think about where I am, what I want to do with the rest of my life. Lately, every one after 45 has just been another slippery slope toward the big 5-0.
In my mind, I am still 24. But when I try and get out of bed, my body no longer feels 24. When I pass by the mirror I wonder where all those other years have gone, and who’s that grey headed/bearded guy staring back at me?
Being so thankful to be alive has changed the way I approach each day. Now, I want to soak in the best of the ones I love every day. Sunrise and sunset are reasons to thank God again. I don’t know how long all this’ll last. Hopefully, at least until I’m 48.
Grace & Peace,
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