I have a birthday coming up in a couple of days. When I was a kid, I hated having a birthday not only in the winter, but also right after Christmas. I heard things like "You can't have a party because it'll be cold and raining." or "This gift counts as Christmas and your birthday." No matter how untrue it was, in hearing that, I began to believe my day wasn't worth celebrating, that I wasn't special. And to be honest, I began this week feeling very unspecial. And unseen. Invisible, really. Like I didn't matter. I had dug a great big, muddy hole in which to wallow and I was bedding down. I felt sorry for myself.
In a family of people prone to great bursts of enthusiasm and energy, there is also a propensity toward deep bouts of melancholy. I knew I was heading out to dangerous waters on Monday, but despite knowing this, I let the current carry me. And while I was letting myself be towed along by self pity, thankfully, I had a friend chug out to me once again, tug boat style, and haul my dead weight back to the land of the thankful. And things brightened up. Of course, they always do. We just have to wait for it.
So in two days, I will celebrate my birthday. Quietly. There will be no self pity. There will be no sadness. There will be joy. There will be gratitude for one more year of being privileged enough to see the Holy all around me. There will be a letting go. But also a taking up. There will be cake (just a small one), and tugboats. My reminders that I'm worth celebrating. We all are.
No comments:
Post a Comment