My birthday has come and gone. Two months have passed and I have not yet blogged about it. That is unusual for someone who blogs about anything and everything.
What kept me?
Words.
I had no exact words to describe how I felt. Again, it is unusual for someone who has been working with words for over two decades.
My Sunday school group, women of varying ages and persuasions in my home church, are my prayer warriors and spiritual family. I was tasked to prepare our lessons, put them in fancy slides, and we all discuss the facts behind them every Sunday after the Worship Serice. The discussion is always alive and we learn from each other. After an hour of exchanging thoughts and expertiences, we go home full, nourished with the Word.
Then one Sunday, after our traditional wacky group shot to end the session, someone turned off the lights. Then one came in cradlling a birthday cake with my name on it. Two candles flickered in the dark. And everyone sang the Happy Birthday song.
It was magical—I was transported to a neverland where love swayed like birthday balloons above me, a place where 79 years worth of grace rained down at the same time.
And now, two months later, no matter how hard I try, I can’t recall if I ever said “Thank you.”
But then again, gratitude is not a sound, it is a silent song kept in the heart but heard like magic. These women and I share the same heartbeat: we begin and end our meetings with prayers of gratitude to the God we all serve.
“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” (James 1:17 ESV)
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