Happy birthday to me.
My birthday is in less than 15 minutes. There are tears in my eyes. Usually, I find myself crying over what I’ve lost; mourning the parents I could never have. Hating that memories of hugs, and arguments, and safety, and stability were stolen from me. This year, I find myself broken over what God has given to me. This year, God used my birthday eve to remind me what has been taken from me (as usual), but then… to show me what He’s given me. For the first birthday I’m not angry that I was robbed of something I considered to be a right, but grateful. Because He’s never left me. Even when I felt abandoned, He was there, watching over me. I’m still sad I think, but not so much because I feel slighted… instead, I ache for my parents who spend my birthday, and my sister’s birthdays, with empty arms. My heart breaks knowing that theirs is a life of regret, filled with mistakes that can’t be taken back. I hurt for them.
Now, my birthday is in 9 minutes. I’ll sleep knowing that I’m safe. Loved. Cherished. Protected. By a God who loves me. By a God who has given me sisters that share my eyes, and my smile, and my twitchy dance, and my… awesome? taste in music. By a God who has given me a community that doesn’t let me hurt alone. And by a God who gave me a family who CHOSE (and chooses) to love me.
Happy birthday to me. And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I believe that.