My birthday approaches. But no man will help me celebrate. No one will notice, for I am not one day older. They will not perceive my age by white hair or wrinkles. And few will perceive my age by the words I speak. Yet the years of man have produced a different soul.
I am 61 years old in the flesh. But I am about to become only 29 years old in the Lord. The birthday of my flesh is the twentieth day of a summer month. I was wise enough to write down the day of my baptism years ago. The ink says January fifth of 1986.
Now a curious question comes to the front. Are these years and dates really correct? There is proof that my flesh came to breathe air on a certain day. But what about my soul?
Shall I say I made a choice to become a Christian? The word duress comes to mind. For if I refused, death remained my only eternal belonging. I can make absolutely no claim to righteousness before the Living God. I am His because of His Holy Purposes.
And what of the tiny baby I became? Who gave that babe a soul? Who purposed His own desires? Who provoked me to think like I have become to think? Doesn’t the Bible tell us we are destined to appear because He determined our days?
What of this thought: I purposed to become sin. But He determined my day of eternal birth. And there is yet a day of completion! At that moment, I will not have a third birthday. I will be ushered into an age of dayless eternity. Who will remember his entry? By what moment in dispelled time will such beings mark passing years?
For now, nights and days have marked the place I am. But the day comes when there is no differing shadow. To this I look forward with a peaceful anxiety. Then, when the Age to Come appears, “happy birthday” will be a forgotten phrase.