Today is my birthday.

Memories, cacti, and lemon meringue pie

Today is my birthday.

I am fairly certain that I’m 39 years old.

It’s funny how, when you’re a child, your age is such an integral aspect of your identity. Your age determines what grade you’re in, what Sunday school class you attend, who your friends are, what size of clothes you wear, what sports teams you play on, what movies you can watch, and how late you get to stay up at night. As an adult, it barely matters at all. I don’t even get carded at the grocery store anymore. Age is almost irrelevant.

I have a few childhood memories of birthdays. I remember waking up on my seventh or eighth birthday to my mom spreading a brand-new white comforter over me in bed. It was so bright and clean looking, and to this day, I prefer white linens over any other color or pattern.

I remember my Star Trek birthday when I turned 12. My mom put dry ice in blue punch so that it billowed out white clouds, and my best friend Melanie came over to spend the night. I had a crush on Captain Kirk, so we watched Star Trek: Generations, which was my favorite movie at the time.

I remember my 15^th birthday in California, playing sardines with all my friends on the cul-de-sac in the dark, and hoping I could find where one of my crushes, either Eric or Alec, were hiding. Because nothing says romance like hiding in the neighbor’s bushes with a teenage boy who thinks you’re a nerd.

Last weekend, Jason threw me a surprise party. His dad came over to babysit the girls while he took me out on a date. After having a margarita, he suggested we go back home, because he said he’d left a gift card on his desk, and he wanted to use it for dinner. I thought it was kind of odd to go all the way back home for a gift card that was probably only $20, but I didn’t argue. When we got back to the house, a bunch of our friends were there, and there was homemade lasagna, and an enormous Italian cream cake by my sweet friend, Bre, at All Around the Kitchen.

Another one of my friends, Amanda, got me a bright pink Christmas cactus. Unbeknownst to her, when I was a teenager, my mom got me the same gift, and so Christmas cacti have always been sentimental to me. Any plant that produces such vivid summery flowers in cold gray December seems like it must be a metaphor for something. To me, they’re a reminder that brightness and warmth still exist despite clouds, and even though it’s cold, summer will come again.

I think when you’ve got a traumatic or broken childhood, it’s important to have little reminders of the good days. Those things that got you through hard times can be the things that ground you in happy memories of those times. They remind you that there was joy and love blended amid the sorrow and wrongness. There was warmth in the cold. Light in the darkness.

Sometimes it hurts to remember the good times. It can actually be easier to focus on the bad, because then we feel secure in why we left, why we cut off those toxic relationships, and why we won’t go back. The good memories are far more painful, because we miss those moments so dearly. They were so rare and precious, and we wonder why things couldn’t have stayed that way. But, grieving the loss of goodness is a good kind of sorrow. It’s a healing kind of tears. It’s the acknowledgement and acceptance that there has been loss, that sin is costly, and that our losses are worth grieving.

I have a few other things, besides Christmas cacti, that ground me in happy memories. Orchids are another flower. My dad used to collect orchids, and as a small child I learned my colors from his gardening books. In particular, there was a book called Murphy’s Garden, and it was filled with photos of some guy named Murphy in his greenhouse surrounded by plants.

I think my dad was happiest when he was in his greenhouse. I still remember the musty smell, like damp pottery, peat moss, and wood. It was a safe place where I could be with dad, and he wouldn’t get angry, and nothing strange or frightening would happen. He sat quietly and potted his plants, trimmed dead leaves, watered, fertilized, and cleaned. Those were quiet times. Safe times. Orchids take me back to that greenhouse.

Today, for my birthday, I’m making a lemon méringue pie. I’m sure it won’t come out as good as I remember my mom’s tasting, but she made them for me for at least a few birthdays, and they’ve always made me happy. I’m also making chicken alfredo for dinner, not because I have any special memories attached to the dish, but because it’s amazing, and my kids will eat it too.

Jason will be arriving home this afternoon after spending nearly a week in Denmark for work. He drove to the airport at 8PM last night and arrived in Frankfurt, Germany, around 2AM. So, he’s going to be exhausted when he gets back home.

It will be a quiet evening, but it’s Friday night, we have three healthy kids, we’ll all be together, and we’ll have lemon méringue pie.

This is happiness.

Much love,

Jenn