A birthday reflection


One of my favorite photos from my 26th year, taken by the talented L. Bishop Photography

I turn 27 tomorrow. 2. 7. That's three years from 30, in case that wasn't clear. I still feel 18 (and look it, I know), so the idea of being 27 and one year away from my 10-year high school reunion kind of blows my mind. Who's with me on that?

Recently, when people ask how old I will be, I tell them I will be 27 and shrug like it's no big deal, because let's be real; it's not 16, 18, 21, or 30 (you get the picture). It's not one of the "milestone" birthdays; it's simply another year.

But that's just it. It's another year. And God willing, I'll get a 28th year of life, too. I get the opportunity to wake up each morning, go to work, be with my husband, and continue on the path we're on together. In the wake of recent events in Orlando, this feeling has been marinating in my soul, and very heavily so. Those 49 innocent victims - they won't get to celebrate another birthday. They won't get to scroll through their Facebook feeds and read their birthday wishes. They won't get to enjoy "their day" ever again. And the same goes for so many others who have left this earth prematurely. It's a sobering thought to contemplate the day before my birthday, but I haven't been able to avoid it recently. My heart aches for the parents, siblings, and friends of the victims who won't get to [physically] celebrate birthdays with their loved ones who were nonsensically taken from them way too soon.

So, before you write off your birthday as a "lame year" or a birthday that "doesn't matter," remember that it does matter. Even if you don't have an outlandish celebration or a parade in your honor, it's worth celebrating in some capacity. You are worth celebrating.

Happy birthday, whenever that may be.

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