It's My Birday

Every year, my birthday shares the same week as Thanksgiving. Some years, it lands smack-dab on Thanksgiving Day. 

Now, as a kid, I had mixed feelings about this timeline. On one hand, I didn’t have to go to school and spent the day with family. But on the other hand, there was not a single Thanksgiving dish that didn’t make me gag. Other than rolls and desserts, of course. So most years, I would celebrate my birthday with a dinner of carbs, followed by frosted carbs.

Oh, how that has changed. Well, not the love of carbs and sugar. That will never change.

But, as I turn 43 years old today, I can confidently say that I’ve been delightfully gobbling up my birthday meal for half my life.

The turkey and all of its delicious accessories are now very much enjoyed. This is partly due to a maturing palate, but it also may have something to do with the fact that I have never had to cook my birthday bird. My annual contributions have consisted of a side and dessert or two. The heavy lifting has always lain elsewhere–with my mother, mostly. 

Last year, when I knew we’d be spending Thanksgiving in isolation, I began mentally pumping myself up well in advance. I got as far as purchasing a turkey. Then, as if sensing the trepidation from down the road, dear neighbors offered to fry it for us. 

It was a Thanksgiving miracle. A delectable, mouthwatering miracle. 

So, as I walked out of the grocery store with my 10-pound turkey last week, I told myself that this was the year. In preparation for a campground Thanksgiving, I had researched how to cook a turkey in an Instant Pot because my camper oven was far too small for that kind of job. As it turns out, my Instant Pot isn’t up to the task, either. And I am a poor judge of spatial ratio.

Alas, I was rescued once again when I passed off the frozen bird to my mom, who offered to cook it and bring it to our grand meal in the great outdoors. 

Some things are just better left to the experts. 

While I may not have experience as a turkey chef, one thing I do know well is thanksgiving. My palate of gratitude has also matured over these 43 years. A few gag-inducing trials tend to do that. And the miracle of life and the blessing of another year full of God’s grace just keeps getting sweeter. 

Yes, even sweeter than the sugar-topped carb I’m about to gobble up.

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