It’s my birthday. I hardly remembered. Last year, I celebrated my “Birthday Month”. Last week, Mr. FixIt said quietly…”Your birthday is coming up. What would you like?” I didn’t know what to say. Usually I have a list of fun things I’d like. Experiences mostly. But this year it is almost like, “Really? It’s here already? I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Birthdays have always been really big for me, but not this year. There’s so much going on in the world. So many distractions. So many sad stories and heartaches. So much angst and anxiety. How can I even consider celebrating anything as base as the day of my birth? As the day crept closer, I gave it a lot of thought and decided I wanted a Lodge Combo Cooker and the cookbook by Robertson called Tartine Bread. I am bound and determined to master the art of baking with sourdough. Baking gives me peace and brings a deep satisfaction as the smells the sourdough starter transforms to a crusty chunk of heaven in my oven.

Between the doctor visits and physical therapy and mowing at two properties, my birthday almost feels like an afterthought this year. So I made a decision last night as I wrote this. We are going to the farm today to mow. I want to spend my birthday there…maybe even staying overnight. Then, after online church on Sunday…I’m spending the day in my kitchen, hopefully creating the perfect loaf of sourdough bread.

I need this. I had a little mini meltdown Thursday night. Stress had been building up and we had an unexpected medical appointment added for yesterday. I never let myself think about the “what ifs”. I don’t find it productive nor necessarily helpful. For some weird reason, all I could think about Thursday evening was all the bad things that could happen with my sweetheart’s health and I quickly got swamped with anxiety. 

The grief from losing Mr. Virgo settled in the pit of my stomach. Whenever I am faced with anything like a health scare, my stomach expresses its great displeasure by rejecting its contents. When Mr. FixIt came to bed, I had to tell him I was having one of my “bad nights”. He knows what that means. Usually I’m either up all night, or up and down all night…neither of which is conducive to him getting much rest. So, this time I elected to sleep out in the camper. I was only fifty feet from him and I kept the sound up on my phone in case he needed me. And I retreated to the “Mother Ship”…my TOW-Wanda…my little sanctuary on wheels. Where I can cry or pound a pillow or yell at God in peace. 

As always, Joy cometh in the morning, and I was perfectly fine by the break of dawn. I laid there for a while, watching the black of night turn to the deep purple of first light. Gradually, more and more pink was added till the hint of turquoise splashed across my view of the far hill. The air was chilled with the freshness of the morning dew. The mockingbird picked up her song with the first hint of light and I took inventory of my spirit. I utilized every tool in my toolbox just as I have learned. And I heavily relied on Jesus to come sit with me and comfort me. I wrapped my fuzzy blanket around my shoulders to ward off the morning chill and pretended it was the wings of my Guardian Angel there to protect me from any anxiety that might try to be whispered into my existence as the day progressed.

I never know when a bad night is going to occur. I never know how it’s going to affect me. Will I be strong and commanding? Or withered and anxiety stricken? I am grateful the storms are very few and far between these days. And, I know that no matter how bad it feels…it’s just a feeling and feelings have so far never killed me. 100% of the time. I know it’s ok to not be ok sometimes…and, I’m ok now. After all…it’s my birthday!

❤️

“This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭118:24‬ ‭ESV‬‬