If my mother-in-law still lived on earth, I’d probably send her flowers today.

I did that once on this date. And I included a card thanking her for giving birth to her youngest son. Wendell came along eight years after it seemed the family was already complete. He is pictured here with his praying grandmother and his sweet big sister. His mother had to talk his dad into adding a baby to the busy mix of teenagers, jobs, church, school, and farming life.

I’m so glad she did.

Through the years, Wendell and I have done lots of things to celebrate birthdays. Steak dinners. Gatherings with friends. Priceless homemade cards from kids and grandkids. This year was unique, though. We started the celebration by rubbing arthritis medicine on one another’s achy parts.

It was so romantic.

You know I’m joking, Dear Reader. But, then again, I’m not. Things have certainly changed around here in the last 69 years. Some of those changes are a bit challenging. The price of eggs for a birthday cake, for instance. But the important things have only gotten better. Things like love for one another and our faith in the God who never fails. It is much easier today to say with the songwriter, “Why would He fail us now?”

“He won’t.” 

So, happy birthday to my husband (and Charles Dickens, Laura Ingalls Wilder, some Hollywood celebrities, and a few of our lifelong friends.) Now that the arthritis cream is working, we may go out to lunch. Feel free to raise a glass of whatever you are having today and join us across the miles.

Happy birthday, my love. Here’s to forevermore.