My 48th birthday was last week, on February 28th. I celebrated by not grading papers that night, and by experiencing the strange and wonderful bombardment of birthday greetings that comes with having a Facebook account. In the days just before and the days since my birthday, I have continued to feel overwhelmed by just what a happy birthday--what a happy life--I have. I keep finding myself adapting the Lou Gehrig line: "I am the happiest 48-year-old woman on the face of the earth." As I shared at my church last Sunday morning, I know that "happy" seems too overused, too trite to fully encompass what I feel. I am happy, as in fortunate and blessed.
I am blessed with a family (immediate and extended) who I love and who love me expansively and determinedly.
I am blessed with a job I love (even when I don't).
I am blessed with students who I enjoy and treasure and love (even when I don't).
I am blessed with a voice that can sing.
I am blessed with legs that can run.
I am blessed with contentment in solitude and joy in fellowship.
I am blessed with financial security.
I am blessed with health (although I would gladly take more of that).
I am blessed with friends who don't let go.
I am blessed with a home that I love.
I am blessed with a God, a heavenly father, who made himself known to me before my conscious memory.
I am, truly, undeservedly, blessed beyond measure.