Yesterday was your birthday, or at least it would have been, had you lived. You died a few weeks after we turned 64 (ten days apart), and this year I turned 67 without you.

Remember how we always celebrated together? The kids would plan a “double-whammy” party, complete with a treasure hunt for our gifts. Their enthusiasm rubbed off on us, and before we knew it we were playing all their silly games with gusto.

The birthday cakes they concocted tasted pretty good coming from such young bakers, but of course even earthly angel food cake could never match whatever heavenly food you’re enjoying now. Maybe you don’t have to eat at all, but my bet is you’re partaking of all kinds of delectable goodies.

Since you left us, life has changed considerably for our family. Four new grandchildren have been added, with another due 8 weeks from today. I wonder what you’d think about Birgitta’s unplanned baby. Although we’re predicting a mix of happiness and struggle, you probably see it differently. Since you live free of calendar dictatorship and the bondage of the clock, maybe you’ve already met this 7^th grandchild. While we wait, you may know.

I think often about you, sometimes every hour, always wondering what you’re doing. This morning I was remembering Jesus’ departure from earth to heaven, relating to the disappointment of the disciples who loved him so much. He said, “You can’t go where I’m going,” and they must have been miserable, wondering how they were going to live without him.

I know just how they felt.

When you left the earth, I couldn’t accompany you either. But Jesus encouraged his disappointed disciples by saying, “If you loved me, you would be glad that I am going to the Father.” (John 14:28) As unhappy as I was when you first left, I can now genuinely say, “Because I love you, I’m glad you’ve gone to the Father.” Besides, my turn will come, just as it did for all the disciples.

You probably know that these days I’m not blogging about you nearly as much on my web site. Sometimes I feel funny about that, but it’s happening because my heart is feeling much better. I rarely think about your cancer anymore but dwell more on our good times together. Paging through old photo albums this week has made me appreciate you more than ever, and I wish I had thanked you more often, when I had the chance.

I’m glad I can write this letter while thinking about you and your special day, August 18. Although you’ll never again go on a treasure hunt for your presents, surely that doesn’t matter now. These days every minute of every day is found-treasure for you.

“I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord.” (Isaiah 45:3)