Where I come from, birthdays are sacred.
Birthdays always meant I could eat whatever I wanted.
I could hit my brother, and he couldn't hit me back.
I could watch whatever TV show I wanted, even if my sisters had no interest. I could sit where I wanted. Eat what I wanted . . . wait, did I mention that one already?
All those things might seem trivial now that I'm 28 years old, but for me, birthdays are still sacred.
The things we call "sacred" are simply things that remind us of God. The Ark of the Convenant was sacred because it reminded the Israelites of God's laws and promises. The Eucharist is sacred because it reminds us of the body and blood of Christ, and the promise of his return.
Birthdays are sacred to me because they remind me that my life is not my own. It is a gift, given to me by God. He has blessed me tremendously, with not only life, but health, friends, family, and even his very own Self, given over like bread and wine at a dinner table.
I haven't earned any of these things, any more than I earned being born 28 years ago to this day. They are all gifts that both humble me and drive me to live my life in a manner worthy of them. This is my sacred reminder, my birthday.
And I like ice cream and cake.
1 comment:
And, let me tell you, they only get more sacred as you get older because you're just happy to still be alive and kicking. Happy Birthday, again, young man!
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