When I was about to turn six, I really wanted a Barbie house for my birthday.
When I sixteen going on seventeen, I remember crushing on a pair of Frye boots, and insisting that they would be the birthday gift of my dreams.
When I was twenty-nine (for the first time, as I often joke about being 29 again every year), I am pretty sure my birthday list included major appliances.
Sitting on the bubble of turning 48, all I could imagine wanting this year was a trip to Kansas City to touch base with some friends and spend time at the International House of Prayer. My husband Bill loves this place even more than I do, and we’ve always, always visited here together. But the last time we were able to do that was two years ago. Moving, book writing, job changes, stuff with our kids and life all managed to wallpaper our schedule with committments requiring us to be present in Chicago.
When Bill asked me a few weeks ago what I wanted for my birthday, I said, “Really, all I want is to go to KC.” Through a crazy chain of last minute events, Bill said, “Go. Happy Birthday.”
When I write that, it looks like I nagged like an acid-filled dripping faucet, but I didn’t. I just said it. And Bill gave me the gift that cost him more than the price of the rental car to get me here. He’s a man that could use a vacation, and craves long chunks of time with the Lord. And this the gift he gave to me.
It would be perfect if he was here to share it. (Next time!)