This week, I turned 56. Remember when you were little? Your birthday was exciting for several reasons; the presents, of course, along with cake and ice cream and parties. But you were also thrilled, and I mean literally ecstatic to be a year older.  Try introducing a 6 year old as 6 and watch them correct you, “Six and a half!”  Flash forward. When that same person is 21, but they still get carded at a bar, they find it insulting. Would they believe us if we told them that when they turn a little older, they will love being carded?

Alas, when we are young, we want to be old and want to look old. Then, what happens when we do get older? We want to be young again, or at least hear people telling us we look young, nutty human beings that we are, unable to ever be satisfied.

This year, my kids were particularly kind to me, telling me that I still look young, with my full head of dark hair. (Well mostly dark but I’ll take whatever bone they throw me.)  When I was 30, everyone told me I looked 20. When I was 40, everyone told me I looked 30. When I turned 50, everyone told me I looked 40. Hmm…Someday I’ll be 100 and everyone will tell me I look 90. So, big deal. Somehow I have a feeling the difference will be negligible.

Birthdays. Time to remember the hope of the resurrection where we will look as we looked at our best, even better, and for all of eternity. No, God does not support vanity. But God does offer hope.

Share this on