Stolen from my daughter’s Facebook page:
[Footsteps in the dark. “Mama, I need to enjoy my last day of being seven!”
“Dinah Jane, what time is it?”
“6:30.”
“I just got Ezra back to sleep. Please go back to your room. You can enjoy your last day of being seven after 7:00.”
Well, there were two more minutes of quiet, at least.]
Our family celebrates birthdays often. Dinah has five brothers and sisters. Her younger sister celebrated her birthday less than a month ago. Last Sunday she ran to meet me in church. Pulled me aside. “Nana,” she whispered, blue eyes wide, glowing. “Did you remember? I’m FIVE now?”
“You bet!”
“SO! Nana! When can I have my birthday sleepover?”
Now, I’m the Nana. The one most likely to forget things – a fact she’s clever enough to use to advantage. But I hadn’t forgotten. She’d had her birthday sleepover – a double one, as is our birthday custom – just two weeks earlier. When I reminded her that we built her cardboard horse barn then, she laughed. Skipped away.
The Preacher celebrates his birthday next. The frequency of his sleepovers moderates his excitement. But the eldest grandbean is next. Two months early, he already has big plans for his double night stay at Nana and Gampa’s.
I adore how children welcome both the march of time and the growth of body. Birthdays mean more freedom. Extra privileges. Putting on a pair of jeans that don’t zip up anymore can spark a celebration. Most adults I know, wrestling too-skinny jeans, rush to Guilt Corner or the local weight-loss group.
Our grandbeans’ delight at their increasing age has made me wonder when my own enthusiasm for birthdays faded. Was it the year I realized I would likely, from that day forward, have to bake my own cake? The year I finally grasped that such richness could end me? The first year (of many) we didn’t celebrate because life was too busy? Or perhaps the year I had no gifts to open?
Somewhere along the birthday road of most adults, most of us feel the only exciting life coupons left in our book of days are those offering an earlier bedtime, stretchier pants, fewer hours at work and a 15% Seniors Discount at our favourite restaurant. But the children remind me that birthdays need never lose their delight - even for aging Christ-followers. Better than unwrapping presents is the gift of God’s constant presence. Compensating for the shrinking pants (and vistas, homes, opportunities) is the opportunity to trust more; to be and do things that expand our faith. Richer than cake are scriptures that promise that God’s calendar never ends - and the best is yet to come.
I’ll turn a big corner, age-wise, in 2016. I’m taking a tip from Dinah: I plan to enjoy each day before the five flips to six. With faith, I have nothing to dread, and everything to look forward to.
Remind me, please.
