Thirty-five is not exactly a “milestone” birthday. ONE is a milestone birthday. Ten is too. And thirteen. Eighteen and twenty one: Those are milestone birthdays. Thirty is the big one. No one talks about turning 35. It’s just a number.
Caleb even asked me yesterday: “You’re going to be a year older tomorrow, right?”
I answered: “No, I’m going to be a day older. And so is everyone else.”
To which he replied, in his own innocently morbid way: “Not the people who die tonight.”
Too right: The people who died last night did not wake up a day older today. Their lives ended. Mine continued however
For many, birthdays are a source of anxiety and depression. Some people just don’t like the idea that they’re getting older. Not me. I’ve never felt particular excitement or anxiety about birthdays. Other than wanting a cake, there’s not much to get worked up over. It is after all, an arbitrary anniversary milestone: Every day you are a year older than you were last year on that day, etc.
But I do appreciate the value of time.
Birthdays are a reminder that I have been granted, not another year, but another day. I hope I live this day more faithful than I was yesterday, and more again tomorrow.
There’s no present like the time and I’m thankful God has given me another one today.