“Happy birthday Jude! How does it feel to be a week old? Any different. In some ways I can’t imagine it does, but then again, every moment is a celebration at this age.” As this sequence of thoughts made their way through my head today I couldn’t help but question: when is it finally okay to get over the wonder of living another day? Though I don’t know exactly how long a person has to be alive before they are deemed unworthy of celebrating daily, I know I have assigned that value somewhere, because there are plenty of people who’s life I choose not to celebrate.
Forget other people for a second. When did I stop celebrating every day of my life? At what point did I conclude that life was my right to be clutched greedily rather than a gift to be received gratefully? How have my clenched fists atrophied against that open-handed amazement at the God who gives and gives and gives?
Fatherhood is not supposed to make you ask questions like this…
