Today is my birthday. I thought it would be only fitting to share the story of "me".
Disclaimer: Content may produce tears.
A long time ago, like in the 1960's, my mother was a missionary. Can I just say, I think that's the coolest thing ever. She asked members of her church to help sponsor her. A few did and gave her the funds she needed. One gentleman even sent her letters while she was there, in Trinidad. When she returned to the states, two years later, their friendship blossomed and soon they were married.
I don't know if they were told this, or they just thought this, but they believed they could never be parents. So, they just had fun. They hiked all over the place (remind you of anyone?). A few years later, they were expecting...me. This was way back in the days before ultrasound, so they didn't know who I was going to be. My father almost passed out when I was born (remind you of anyone else?). My mom thought I was a boy when she saw my full head of hair (both Jack and Josh had full-heads of hair too). When the doctors told her I was me, she almost jumped off the bed, she was so excited.
They doted on me as most new parents do. There are many pictures of me, laying on a blanket, with our 2 huge dogs watching over me. There is a precious picture of my dad hiking, with me on his back. Everything seemed perfect, until.........
My dad was an accountant and had his own business, in the home. My mom worked at the state hospital and worked nights. The routine was that my mom would go to work and my dad would feed me dinner, give me a bath, and put me to bed. One night, when I was fourteen months old, my dad fed me dinner, bathed me, and put me to bed. And then....... he had an aneurism and died on the living room floor.
A neighbor came over to talk with my dad, but instead, found him on the floor.
My mom was called at work. An ambulance was called. Life changed.
I have often thought about that night. First, why did God allow them to have a baby if He knew that my dad was going to die shortly after my birth? Then, I think, wow, God had the whole night orchestrated. My dad could have died while he was feeding me. He could have died while he as bathing me, and I would probably have died in the bathtub. He could have died while holding me and carrying me. But he didn't. He did his job and I was probably the last thing on his mind before he died.
So, the next question is: why then God? Why am I here? I must have asked this question one thousand times. Not the whiny "why am I here?" but the purpose-driven "why am I here?". I think I have a better answer to that question now, and I'm sure it will continue to adapt with the chapters in my life.
Happy Birthday to me and can't wait to see you in heaven, daddy!