Don’t remember which one it was, but one a few years back I felt that we get it all wrong.  We shouldn’t be having the honor, but our mom should be (OK, Dad too, but Mom’s the one who went through the pain!).  I went over to my mom and gave her a hug and told her that, and thanked her for having me.  Her tears welled up and she was speechless for a few moments.  She then told me it was her pleasure even though it hurt at the time and that she would gladly do it again.  It’s a moment in time I won’t forget.  As a result, whenever a mom’s present, I congratulate her, too.

08 April 1990, my 41st birthday. It was Palm Sunday in a small town outside Cochabamba, Bolivia, where I was doing ag development work. Earlier in the week I had shared Passover in a remarkably beautiful synagogue in Cocha, because having grown up with a lot of Jewish friends I can chant the kiddush and other prayers in Hebrew and have held many seders in my home.

In the particular small town in question, however, they have a remarkable tradition—replicating the triumphal entry in sculptures of palm leaves. Every year, each family weaves one statue (the same every year), be it Jesus with legs apart, the ass upon which he rode, his apostles, the crowd, all of it.

All the local musicians are there, street vendors, you name it. There are little palm baskets everywhere, for tossing in money, and all the vendors contribute the day’s sales. The money is given to the guardia de pobres—loosely, protectors of the poor—to help those in difficulty for the coming year. Since the event attracts quite a few people, the poor in that town—especially the cripples—are well cared for.

To unite the true kingship of Christ with a beautiful human experience on my birthday made it the best ever. One week later I joined my father, a true brother in the Lord, for his 84th birthday on Easter.

I also sent postcards to several of my professional colleagues. One of them replied with a letter, beginning a correspondence that six years later grew into our marriage. God is very, very good.

My 30th.

Back in my early 20s I suddenly realized that I would not see 30, considering the promise I had made to myself.  And that began a many-years journey.

I did not “celebrate” my 30th per se.  But on a very long drive through the country, I parked my car in the evening and looked out over the fields and thanked God for making it. 

Every day past 30 is a gift from God to me and a sign of His care and attentiveness.

My 40th
I had had the usual 18th and 21st, but they had passed in a bit of a haze, and I really wasn’t looking forward to my 40th.  I remember telling my mother that no one over 40 was worth talking to.  She looked rather shocked, and said that in her 40’s she had finished all the preparatory work of education and learning who she was; all the preparation had come to fruition with maturity; she was comfortable in herself and settled; was married; had had us; and was healthy and in her prime; she had thoroughly enjoyed her 40’s and looked back on them as a golden time.  Somewhat chastened, I steeled myself for the upcoming ordeal.

In the event, a number of things came together.  My parents and family gathered and we had an excellent celebration; a large party with many of my friends from younger days turned into a big 40th celebration as did a number of other events.  Any excuse for a party.  It turned into something like an Indian wedding - days of feasting and jollity and I really enjoyed it.

I enjoyed my 50th this year, like Canon Harmon, and it was good, but not as memorable as my 40th, and my mother was right, I did enjoy my 40’s, and look forward to this coming decade with enthusiasm and gratitude.

For my 40th, I told everyone that I was going to camp in the woods. Suspiciously, the rest of the family wanted to go along, even after I told them that I was going to camp at the Congaree swamp and that it would be primitive camping. I am thankful that everyone, including the in-laws came along. Calling the owls at night, the company, the quiet, was all much better than going it alone.
As it turned out, the reason everyone came along was to be sure that I came home. They had a surprise birthday party with friends all plannned out before I told them about my planned solitary trip to the woods. I admit that I figured that out and played up my camping trip and left it open on when or if I would ever return.

My birthday is tomorrow and just yesterday I was looking at my boots and hiking stick and thinking….

My most memorable birthday was when I turned 16. Not for the usual reasons one may remember their 16th birthday. My birthday is in early September usually on or near Labor Day [interesting side note- yes, I was actually born on Labor Day of that year]

My dad was out patrolling a nearby lake as part of the Coast Guard reserve. Anyway, he telephoned from his sailboat and wished me Happy Birthday. The reason it was so memorable was that my dad died a few weeks later. Sorry but that is my most memorable birthday.

My most memorable birthday growing up was when I turned eight.  I wanted a pirate themed party and so my friends and I dressed up and talked like pirates, drank red Kool Aid that we called “blood juice,” and in general had a grand old time.  But the highlight was a long treasure hunt.  We went from clue to clue and finally found all my birthday presents, hidden in a chest, in the neighbor’s garage.  My mom put a lot of time and effort into preparing that party.  How fun!

David Handy+

Just came back from planting flowers on my dad’s grave.  I got a big basket of spring flowers/bulbs as a thank you from a neighbor I did a favor for and I decided that rather than putting them in the yard (too lazy to dig up a new section of grass) I’d go plant them in the cemetary since I was going to be in the area today anyway.

I never noticed it before but I was struck walking in how many graves there are of people in their teens, twenties, thirties and forties (and these are new graves, not ones from the 1800’s).

When I was a kid, I eagerly looked forward to every birthday. (“Oh boy!! I’m going to be 16!  Oh boy!!  I’m going to be 17!) then I reached the phase where that gradually started to shift to “Oh s&(& I’m going to be 30! Oh s*&^ I’m going to be 40!”  But now I’ve reached the stage where I say “Thank you God for letting me have another year on this wonderful planet, which is more than has been granted to many more worthy than me.”