November 21st…

November 21st, 1990, at around 2:21 pm, I was born. It’s been 34 years since that day and birthdays have come and gone, and I’ve experienced them in all kinds of ways—celebrating with friends and family, preferring solitude, and everything in between. In my youth, my birthday felt like a holiday. My mother used to wake me up early and play a personalized happy birthday song from “Captain Zoom.” I’m not sure if the song was a midwestern thing or if other American children remember it but goodness, it made me feel like I was on top of the world. I even remember the first time she played that song and the joy I felt. Unfortunately for me, the song didn’t have a personalization option for the names “Joseph” or “Joe,” so my mother settled on “Joey”, a name I certainly did not go by but the sentiment was still felt. The song would start with these words:

 "Hey Joey, it’s your birthday! I’m in charge of the stars, and I’m here to say, Hey Joey, you’re the big star today!"

 Never knew who Captain Zoom was or why this character was made for the song, but I didn’t care; it was my day. In those days, after my mother would start playing the song, she’d bring out a cake and my father and brother would join in singing “Happy Birthday.” I would jump out of bed, beaming from ear to ear, feeling a since of joy that most words fail to capture. I’d get ready head to school to hear my classmates would say, “Happy Birthday!”. Nothing could ruin my day. After school, my mother would take the family to a restaurant of my choosing. I usually settled for Red Lobster or some other familiar chain. The hosts would sing “Happy Birthday,” and I’d end the day with a full belly and a grateful heart. It was everything a child could ask for. Decades later, that spark of excitement for my birthday is gone. Birthdays don’t carry the same meaning they did when I was younger I’m not sure if that’s necessarily a bad thing, but it is the reality. Now, when I wake up, I’m not greeted by applause or handed a cake. Today, I woke up and limped to the bathroom as I waited for my Achilles to “warm up”. I coughed out mucus from a lingering bout of laryngitis and squeezed into a polo that doesn’t fit as freely as it did last year. I entered my classroom and started work like it was any other day.

 For the past few years, my birthdays have gone like they did this morning. It’s probably because my birth date was relatively unknown to my colleagues or students—not by design but simply because I didn’t bother to tell anyone. Birthdays began to feel like more of a hassle than something I should honor or celebrate. I’d go to work, come home, and the day would end like any other—wrapped in monotony. This year, though, was different. A few friends who knew my birthday shared it with my colleagues, and I got some “Happy Birthday” shouts in the hallways and texts on my phone. Later in the day, my juniors and seniors (I teach high school) sang “Happy Birthday” to me, and for the first time in over a decade, I felt “something” again. Their singing reminded me of something I’d forgotten—what it feels to have that spark I had as a child. And it felt good. But as I basked in that joy, the Lutheran in me kicked in. Was I being too selfish by centering the day on myself? Should I shun this attention I’m getting? I’m not any more important than the person besides me. After all, from a scientific perspective, this day is no different from any other. My journey around the sun spans another year, but a year is simply a human construct, a way to measure the passing of moments. Also, from a Christian perspective, every day should be joyous because God has allowed you to see another. As St. James the Just wrote:

 "Now listen, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.’ Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, ‘If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.’” (James 4:13-15)

 Even without a theological lens, this idea is logical. Life is fleeting and the only moment you have is now. So, this morning, as I reflected on my birthday, I asked myself: Should I be grateful for the time I’ve had, or is it okay to miss the days when birthdays felt like holidays? Even now, as I sit alone in my classroom hours after my colleagues have gone home, I ask myself: “Now what?” What is the purpose of my birthday? What is the point of waking up early to do the same job I’ve done for years? What’s the meaning behind it all? Last year, these questions depressed me. I mourned the loss of the “spark” I had as a child and the joy I once felt. But today, my students changed everything. They reminded me of that spark, and they helped me realize something profound: The spark never left. I chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the negatives and uncertainty of life. Yes, growing older comes with its challenges. The things I once did effortlessly, like sprinting without stretching, are behind me. But what I’ve gained in return is perspective. I have this moment before me, and I need to rejoice and be glad in it. I was given another year of life, and it was done purposefully.

 The question I’m going to continue to interrogate daily is what I will do with what I’ve been given. Who knows how long we have on this earth? But while I am here, I have a job to do. I see my life as a groundskeeper’s task. Imagine a beautiful building surrounded by lush grass and perfectly trimmed shrubs. It maintains its brilliance because of the hard work of the groundskeepers. My life is like that lawn—I must take care of my body, mind, and soul, making the most of the time I’ve been given. Why? Because someone is always watching. As my students left my classroom today, they said, “We love you, Mr. Lewis.” In that moment, I remembered the strong Christian teaching that my life is not my own:

"You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love." (Galatians 5:13)

 I exist to help the person opposite me. I exist to keep up with and maintain what I have been given. You never know whose life you will inspire or who will be forever changed by the example you set. Not everyone shares the same religious beliefs, and some may have different understandings of service to others. But there is undeniable logic in a life that seeks to help those around you. If you take care of the person near you and they do the same, a cycle begins—one where no one has to carry the weight of life’s uncertainties alone. Imagine a world where everyone looks out for one another. Isolation fades, fear diminishes, and love becomes the foundation of our existence. Today, my students reminded me that the spark of my life has not faded. I only need to seek it out to find it. I’m thankful for the lesson they taught me, and tonight, I’m going to go home, order the largest pizza known to humankind, and stuff my face. Why? Because I’m thankful the Good Lord Jesus gave me another year. Peace.