birthday cake

It’s my birthday week. Wahoooo! And, here is a little family secret. I don’t know how old I am. I mean, I could figure it out. I know what year I was born. And I know how to use the calculator app on my iphone.

I have a general idea of my age, of course. I know the decade and even what side of the hill I’m on in that decade. I just keep forgetting the exact numeral. This is not because I’m trying to ignore the creeping up of old age. It is simply because I don’t care very much.

Years ago, I heard a pastor who was turning forty talk about how he had been obsessing about the milestone. He turned to writer and church leader Arthur Wallis and asked if he had felt stressed when he was turning forty. Basically, Arthur said, “No, I was too busy watching for revival to break out.”

I’ve tried to adopt that attitude. Not that age doesn’t matter. I plan to have a bash of some sort when I cross the next decade. But I want to be preoccupied with things more important than the number of candles on my cake.

I do, however, plan to have some cake! Please feel free to join me.