The people walking in front rebuked him, telling him to be silent, but he kept calling out all the more, ‘Son of David, have pity on me!’ Then Jesus stopped and ordered that he be brought to him; and when he came near, Jesus asked him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ He replied, ‘Lord, please let me see.’ // Luke 18:39-41
Can I tell you a secret, sister? This week I celebrate my 41st year of life! I'm ashamed to admit that for a few years in my thirties I looked to birthdays with a fair bit of dread. One more turn around the sun was just a reminder of past missteps, dashed hopes, and “missed” opportunities. I wasn't physically blind like the man in today's Gospel (Luke 18:35-43), but I was certainly spiritually blind to the providence of God and to the truth that my life was a pure, undeserved, and (let’s be honest) pretty awesome gift from the Creator.
A few years into those "woe-is-me" birthdays, I got tired of floundering (thank You, Jesus) and instead made a conscious decision to look forward to my birthday with anticipation instead of dread. Gratitude instead of regret. Hope instead of despair.
With a profuse amount of birthday spirit, I made one more birthday commitment: I was going to anticipate my birthday with as much zeal as an eight year old. That’s right—bring on the cake and candles and waking up with a smile on my face because I was another year older. I was ready to celebrate: Right where I was at. Right where God wanted me to be.
Whatever turn around the sun you will celebrate in the coming year, my prayer is that all of us might celebrate each and every birthday with the words of that man in today’s Gospel: “Lord, please let me see.” Let us see Your presence, Your blessings, and Your calling on our lives. And let us celebrate every year of our lives with the ardent zeal of an eight year old. Amen.
Let us see Your presence. // Karen SchultzClick to tweet
Karen Schultz hails from the Land of 10,000 Lakes, where she is often found in or near one of them. As a doula, lactation educator, and FertilityCare Practitioner, she finds joy in helping women to embrace the gift of their bodies. Downtime is found in quiet adoration chapels, farmers markets and gardens, and listening to bluegrass music. She is the author of Blessed Conversations: Misericordia.
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