my old man.
Man, I love you.
It's your birthday!
As it stands, as I'm writing this the day before it will post, I have you absolutely zero gifts. I don't even have a box of cake mix standing by or anything. You always make celebrating you so hard because you're so good at sharing. I'm pretty sure you've bought me something for your last sixish birthdays and earlier I heard you tell Elias you'd take him for donuts for your birthday. Though I guess you still get something out of that.
Anyhow. I'm praying over how to celebrate you today, love.
Christ in you. You as our family's pastor. You as our leader.
You, the bathroom cleaner and the car-trip-driver.
You, the friend that I often find myself doubled over laughing with.
You, the one who will grab my hand and pray with me over and over again at a moments notice.
You, who sits quietly - maybe even for years, letting His power and truth stir in you until you speak.
I'm not sure any banner or cake or present could grasp the joy my heart gets from knowing you. And even if I went all out, I know - at the heart of it, you're happier with a cup of coffee and an hour alone with your headphones and bible.
So I'll sit in the tension of that.
Of wanting to give you the moon and a surprise party and a car of balloons when there is probably nothing you'd hate more in the world than a surprise party and some pesky balloons. Even though, to my knowledge, you have nothing against the moon.
My point is:
I love you.
More than words.
More than than moon.
Which is saying something.
Happy Birthday, love.
I pray that this year all the things you've been storing up in your spirit for the last few years spill forth and the Holy One blows us all away.
Like a million balloons spilling out of a tiny car.