Today is my birthday.  But please don’t sing for me.  Really.  Just give me the free dessert and call it a day.

Twenty-seven years ago today I came into this world.  Stubbornly.  And on my own timetable. 

[Yes, my mother was in labor with me for twenty hours before having a C-section.  I like to think that it was because I wanted the world to be ready for me when I arrived.  And don’t say anything about me having a big head.]

I’ve never been good at celebrating my birthday. 

Perhaps you can hear my parents shouting from Texas that this is the understatement of the century.

When I was younger I got to the point of refusing to let my parents throw me a birthday party.  Seriously, what kid does that?  Of course, the first time I did this, my parents just said “okay” and then planned an un-birthday party for me.  Every friend that came represented a different holiday and their gift was wrapped as such.  My mom even found paper products for each of the holidays (St. Patrick’s Day included) and each person ate off of their respective holiday plates.  They tricked me.  But I’m totally over it.  I promise.

I’ll spare you any psychosocial explanation for my behavior, but suffice it to say that it’s still best for people to surprise me rather than try to get my input and plan something for my birthday.  If you ask me what I want to do, I’ll tell you not to waste your time or energy on anything.  It’s very uncomfortable for me to ask people to celebrate my birthday, so I try to avoid it if possible.  As I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to stifle those tendencies and become more gracious about my birthday, but I’ll admit it’s still very unnatural for me.

But that’s not really why I’m writing this post.

I think today is as good a day as any to say that the older I get (and yes, I realize that I’m not old), the more I realize just how indebted I am to my Savior.

I am a mess.  I really am.  I have been since I drew my first breath. 

And my God has never given up on me.  His arm has never been too short to pull me out of whatever pit in which I found myself.  He’s never forsaken me.  He’s never gone back on one of His promises to me.  And I’ve given Him plenty of reasons to do so.

He’s protected me in ways that I can only comprehend in retrospect.  He’s guided me when I didn’t realize or acknowledge it was Him.  He’s healed me in ways that nothing and no one else could.

I was born on a Tuesday.  Tuesday’s child is full of grace, they say.

Twenty-seven years of mercy.  Twenty-seven years of grace.

It never gets old.

It never ceases to amaze me.

It’s a gift I will celebrate this day and every day that my God gives me life on this earth.