Turning 53

It seems like only yesterday that I was bummed-out about turning 50. Birthdays always make me take stock of my life and once again I'm reminded that my life has turned out nothing like I expected. I like being me and I'd trade with no one, but there are some key elements missing in my past and present whose absence I regret. But the bed in which I lie is of my own design and I've been constructing it for many years.

Perhaps the best thing about being a Christian is that while we pay for our mistakes, we pay only in this life.

The course of a life pivots on both split-second decisions and time-worn habits. But my life's destination was determined on a Thursday night back in the fall of 1963, when I walked down an aisle and repeated Peter's good confession to an old preacher named Mr. Grubb. A few minutes later Mr. Grubb's gnarled old hands lowered me into the waters of the Jerome Christian Church baptistry. But I believe another pair of Hands helped lift me up. And through every triumph, every bad decision, every good deed, and every thoughtless act, those Hands have never let go of me.

I'll sing to you Lord, a hymn of love,
For your faithfulness to me.
I'm carried in Everlasting Arms,
You've never let me go, through it all.