It'ssss Our Birthhhhhhday

... and guess what we gotsss for our Birthday Presssssent?

I have a fishing buddy who got all choked up about this just before he handed it over. You might say I party full throttle on my birthday.

I’m here all week. Try the veal.

No, but seriously folks, birthdays are one of the sane institutions of our culture. They preserve something very sound: the doctrine of grace. Birthdays are the holiday where the main celebrant has the least to brag about. What was my achievement 53 years ago? Getting born: an entirely passive act. My parents (especially my Mom) did all the heavy lifting. All I did was exist, and even that was a pure gift of grace from the God of life and my mother and father.

Birthdays are the great marker in the calendar that remind us that everything, including your own two hands, is gift. You come into the world with nothing to offer anybody but a sucking reflex. You are a fat little ball of pure need. And you pretty much stay that way for 20 years while your parents pour out everything for you while you take it as though the universe owes you. But here: Let Billy Collins describe the absurd generosity of grace because he does it so much better:

Everything you and I will ever do and be in this life is like that lanyard. And the incredible thing is that God, like Collins’ Mom, is pleased if only we offer it with gratitude and love. Thank you God for this life you gave me. And thank you Mom and Dad, for cooperating with Him to give me this breathing body, these arms and legs, and this foolish selfish heart that has given such inadequate thanks for the gift all these years.