Sixty-one birthdays and I finally feel like celebrating. I’ve never thought December 9th worth singing about. Many beautiful people have surprised me, blessed and gifted me, but none has ever convinced me my birth was a happy day. And here’s why:

No one but the Creator knows what it took to make us.
God alone is Author of who, what, and why we are.
The blood of Christ confirms our worth.

Celebrations, in general, have left a bad taste in my mouth. Always on guard for the other shoe to drop. Growing up not knowing who you are leaves an awful scar. And it’s a familiar story for most of us. Fear does not discriminate between wealth and poverty. It only prefers the dark hours of childhood.

The courage to celebrate—the good, the bad, and the ugly—is an inheritance no saved soul need run from. God always has more gift-wrapped we’re not ready for. We may have grown up alone—guessing at the wrong, betting on the worst—but Christ makes everything beautiful in its time. (Ecclesiastes 3:11)

Pause & Pray: Lord, you know my sitting down, my rising up, and when I run away. My thoughts, my paths, my ways are all familiar to You. I can’t run from Your Spirit or hide from Your presence. No matter where I go, Your hand always leads me. You won’t let go. You formed me from the inside out. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Search me, my God, and hold my heart. Test me and know my anxious thoughts. Point out anything that grieves You—and lead me along the highway right with You. (Psalm 139)