Real 29- Not the I’m-a-sad-person-who-can’t-see-the-benefits-of-getting-older-so-I-lie-about-it version of 29. The actual 29. The one that happens this year to people who were born in 1984.
Yes, today is my birthday.
I won’t be spending it celebrating myself. That makes me feel weird, anyway, so I guess that’s kind of selfish to focus the attention elsewhere.
At any rate, I’m spending my birthday finishing up an international mission trip. I’m spending today ignoring the certain 862 mosquito bites on my left ankle. I’m spending today holding hands, creating memories, and sharing love.
Oh, and trying not to throw up on the plane. That will be a big part of my day.
Here’s the thing- I don’t want you to get me anything. Really, I don’t. Well, only if you’re a roofer. I need a new roof. But no stuff. I have enough stuff already. The recliner I got out of the dumpster 10 years ago works just fine. Yes, I’m serious.
I don’t need cards either. I can never figure out the statute of limitations on keeping those anyway. It’s either instantly or never, neither of which have majority support from all my card-sending relatives. Let’s make an agreement to write on the card exactly how long the recipient is supposed to keep/display the card. That will solve a lot of problems.
So it’s my birthday. If you’re a gifter, consider joining me in spending whatever you would have spent on me today by giving that amount to our future missions. Your support goes toward feeding, clothing, and loving on orphans in Honduras. And the plane that’s going to get me there. I better not throw up in that one, either.
Or, if you won’t forget, come hang out with me sometime this week and you can give it to me in person! I even have the technology now to take credit card payments.
Thanks for helping me celebrate my birthday right, you guys. Love you.