Birthday Present

It was my birthday the other day. I turned 48. It seems weird to see the number 48. In regard to my age anyway. 48 is usually my bank account balance. Cents. Are we old at this age? I used to think so and based on all the ailments I've experienced of late I think I may be. I said weird because I may feel 48 a lot of days in my body but in my mind I'm much younger, like 12. Looking at my check book you'd agree.

I stopped by moms house to drop off a check. Told her to cash it before the account got back down to...well, you know.  She gave me a birthday gift and a card. Do we really need to give a card with the gift? I said thanks and smiled and walked out holding my gift. I was disappointed as I walked to the truck because I had shaken the gift box. No noise. Remember when you were a kid and you got a box that rattled? Model airplane, Lego's, board game, a box of army men. All good stuff. Then you get this box that doesn't rattle or worse,  a package that goes limp in your hand.What is it with moms and giving clothes? Mine gives underwear, tee shirts and socks. Undergarments. And you have to open this stuff in front of your friends at the party. I'm glad I wasn't a girl.

I went home and complained to my wife. It fell on deaf ears- turns out she's a mom too. "Oh gee whiz Mark  grow up! What are you, 12?"

I like to get gifts though, whether it rattles or not. Don't know who invented the whole birthday gift thing but I'd like to shake his hand. What a wonderful invention that means something different at different ages. When you're 7 it's all about the mystery inside the box and all the fun you will have with it. When you're, say, 48, it's about the mystery outside the box. It really IS the thought that counts ( this is definitely NOT true when you're 7. Please, get 'em something to play with). The thought is love. You're special. And I really do feel special. Special enough to wear the underwear mom bought. Even though she still thinks I'm a 32....

I did get a gift a long time ago that I still hold special. It was from my Dad. It didn't come in a box I could shake or in fancy Batman wrapping paper with a big bow. It came in a shroud that was dirty and stained and bloody and laid on a cold floor in a dark cave. I never got to see this gift or hold it but it's my most prized possession and without it I am ruined. 2000 years ago a Man loved His Dad so much that He gave his very life for me and as I type this I cry and weep for I am so unworthy. I am wretched and foul and so undeserving but my Dad said "Mark, it is all that foul wretchedness I wiped away with that shroud and it is gone. Forgotten. You are my love, and you are my son and I'll love being with you forever. Happy birthday".

Forever. I like the sound of that. As it turns out, 48's not so old after all....

Making It

I used to love the Dollar Stores. How great is it to walk into someplace and EVERYTHING is the same price! No price checks at the register, no looking for the price tag or the label on the shelf. A buck. Even I could figure this out. Though I did have a problem when they had, say candy bars, two for a dollar. Ok, two I could figure out but if I were buying for a group and needed like 25 I started to panic a little. 25 is more than the fingers and toes I have AND it's an odd number so there'd be change involved. I sweat and start to shake when I do math and invariably the clerk would ask "Sir, may I help you?" and I would have to drop the candy and run away so as not to look like an idiot.

When my kids were little the Dollar Store was a great place at Christmas time. You could go in there with $30 and get ALL your Christmas shopping done. I took Terri in case there was math involved.  Good times.

Nothing you bought held up though. I mean, it's a dollar right. I remember trying to cut open a plastic bag with my dollar scissors. Nope. I tore open the bag and off came Barbie's head. Oops. Same with everything you got there. Nothing was made to last. Except the candy. I still can't get that off of me...

I like to make things. As a kid I loved to help my mom make cookies, help my dad make things with wood, with nuts and bolts. I guess that's why I work in the construction field- I get to make things. Hopefully things that'll last.

 I was watching a a show on Netflix the other day about how things are made. One of those shows that take you to the factory to show how cars, pants, computers and dollar store Barbies are made. Some things are so complicated with so many moving parts it's a wonder it ever all comes together and actually works! But they do and hundreds or thousands are boxed up and sent out every day. Simply amazing.

The thing that fascinated me the most were the car factory turning out thousands of such complicated machines. And not really the machines but the machines that MAKE the machines (is that confusing? I almost got lost). Who made these things? They are so complicated and precise, cutting metal, screwing screws, attaching and soldering tiny pieces in place, all at a blistering pace. It almost seems impossible. How creative these things are.

It makes me think what a wonder WE are. How we're put together and made.Not just out bodies but out soul and spirit too. Often we hear life is a process, a journey, and that God is making us into something wonderful. We're no dollar store Barbie but the real deal from Mattel. (well, I'm a Ken I think). The process is often loud and noisy and hot and dirty but that's how life is sometimes. Often it's not much fun but God has made these special sort of machines: situations, trials and tribulations really, to cut, grind, shape and polish you into this work of His creation. If we could just stand back from time and space and see Him working. We'd be so impressed.