Why I Love My Birthday

 

I just celebrated my 23rd birthday, and it was a beautiful day of celebration and reflection. Here's the fruit (or is it cake?) of pausing to look back:

For most of my life I was convinced that my birthday should be a day to celebrate me. After all, it’s the “anniversary of my birth” as one treasured high schooler wrote on my car window.

Growing up, birthdays weren’t some spectacular production, but the day never passed without my family and friends making me feel special. There are very few birthdays I remember vividly. I do recall that when I turned 8 my parents threw me a cheerleader birthday party. For my 13^th birthday my mom surprised me with a sleepover with some of my best friends.

I had always dreamt about my 16^th birthday. Hopes of getting my license and celebrating with friends stirred in my heart. Even though my favorite color has always been bright turquoise, I wanted delicate pink décor for my sweet 16^th.

By the time I finally turned 16, life had thrown me a few curveballs. I was battling a burdened heart, but a party was in store and I was certain it would lift my spirits. I remember parts of the day in blurred images—bowling with my siblings and best friend at the time, Disneyland with a few more friends.

By the afternoon of my 16^th birthday, everyone who had planned on coming to my house for the main party bailed. It was spring break, so I’m sure they had other things going on. Still, I was hurt when I realized the dream party I’d always wanted was about to fall apart.

My mom told me she’d still decorate the house the way I had requested years before. I thought the decorations would ease the sting of everyone cancelling, but the pain was solidified by coming home to over-the-top pink streamers and balloons. A pale pink table was set with pink paper plates, pink napkins, and pink plastic utensils. Everything in the house was cleaned from corner to corner and perfectly prepared for the 5-or-so guests that never arrived.

Alone that night it suddenly all felt very empty. I wanted to drink some concoction of otherwise innocent household products because when you’re 16 and your friends cancel the day of your party, it automatically translates to, “Nobody in the world cares about me.”

Fast forward 2 years. Life had started to turn around. I still struggled with the occasional emotional rollercoaster, but for the most part things were looking up. I had started college and made incredible friends. For my 18^th birthday, three of my best friends came from all over the United States to surprise me. After that incredible weekend, I remember thinking, “I've finally made it. I'm actually happy and I have amazing friends. If I ever get sad again I'll just look back at this weekend and smile.”

Less than two weeks after they left I was dying inside again. Life felt so empty and worthless. I learned that whether my friends bail the day of or fly out to make my birthday a big deal, life can be, well, lifeless.

I pursued happiness for 18 years and it never lasted. I had to find something else to look forward to the moment my excitement faded. And even the greatest memories lose their luster over time.

If friends flying in to surprise me for the greatest weekend of my life didn't make me happy longer than a few days, then what would? I had heard that Jesus satisfies but never truly experienced Him in that way. What I didn't realize was that, though I was physically breathing, I was completely dead.

God says, “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart” (Jeremiah 29:13). I always called myself a Christian and believed I was, but when everything else fell apart I started really seeking God as best I knew how.

In late May or early June of 2008 something changed. I don't know how exactly it happened—I wasn't even aware that I had been dead—but somehow God got a hold of my stubborn heart. I saw the world through new eyes. I fell in love with Jesus for who He is and not just what He could give me.

For once I saw the Almighty God as a loving Father rather than a harsh Judge. I started feeling compassion for the people on the road that cut me off. For the first time in my life, I recognized the gentle conviction of the Holy Spirit over the heavy condemnation in my head. The Word of God came alive and all the dots of everything I’d ever been taught about Jesus were connected. I wanted more and more of Him. I was breathing Him in, and for the first time, I was alive.

I've had 5 birthdays since then, and on every one I've remembered that I was born—a dead sinner, a hopeless rebel. But the God who loves me cared enough to rescue me and breathe life into my lungs. I still experience highs and lows—that’s life. But God has given me a purpose more rewarding than anything I could ever dream up for myself.

The Holy Spirit has sealed me as His, and on my worst day (even if it's my birthday) I can rejoice in the fact that I am truly living. And I am thankful for every breath.