It’s that weird day that only comes once every four years. Happy February 29th, a. k. a. Leap Day!

It’s a reminder for me that I was very nearly a Leap Day baby way back in 1972. Had I been born 11 hours later, I’d be turning 12 instead of 48.

I guess that people with February 29 birthdays can either celebrate on February 28 or March 1 (or both), but it must be awkward not being able to celebrate on your actual birthday more than once every four years.

Then again, maybe most people don’t overthink things like this the way I probably would.

For me, it was day 2 of the birthday weekend. As always, I’m thankful for another year of life. I don’t take it for granted that I’ve made it this far when more and more people I know won’t get to celebrate old age (or in many cases, year 48).

Every year and every day I get is a gift. I’m thankful to God for every single one of them so far.

As for the birthday, it was so much fun that I should probably go ahead and have another around this time next year. Just not on February 29.

Today for my birthday, I was granted early parole from work. I hit up a couple of thrift stores and one of my favorite record shops and still managed to get home a bit earlier than usual.

I ended up stopping a couple of times in my subdivision while the school bus let out a group of students who were probably more than willing to escape the confines of the crowded vinyl seats.

I let my imagination wander for a bit and for a moment I could vaguely recall the freedom that came at the end of the school day. It was a world full of almost endless possibilities. Usually my afternoons involved Who’s the Boss and Growing Pains back to back, then homework.

But some days I’d give anything to go back to being a kid for a day. Sometimes I’m convinced that being grown-up is highly overrated and that adulthood is mostly wondering why you’re sore all over and wondering where the remote control went.

Still, I hope those kids today will have the same memories to look back on that I have. I hope they won’t be so eager to rush through childhood to get to being grown up or that they won’t spend their whole lives being in a hurry to get to the next activity or event or program or stage in life. I hope they have times where they get bored and are forced to learn how to cultivate their imaginations.

Above all, I hope they don’t wait to appreciate the fine art of taking a good nap.

I like to think that I have plenty of willpower. That is until I go to a Mexican restaurant and get anywhere near chips and salsa.

That’s when my willpower automatically goes from 88 miles per hour to zero in about five second flat. And flat is not what my belly looks like after all those salsa-drenched chips.

What other simple pleasure is there that never gets old quite like the standard chips and salsa? Especially since each place is a little different than all the rest. Some are more spicy. Some are more tomato-y. Some are sweeter and some are saltier.

I could probably go for days without so much as a thought of these chips and salsa, but put them in front of me and I’m done for. I’ve been known to ruin my appetite for the actual meal I ordered due to said chips and salsa. I need help.

But at least I’m not on drugs.

Today marks Ash Wednesday, the official start to the Lent season leading up to Easter Sunday.

For me, it’s the start of my yearly fast from social media.

I found this prayer by Henri Nouwen that echos the desire of my heart for 2020. May this Lent season not just be about giving up something for the sake of sacrifice, but making room in your heart, mind, and life to hear from God more clearly.

“The Lenten season begins. It is a time to be with you, Lord, in a special way, a time to pray, to fast, and thus to follow you on your way to Jerusalem, to Golgotha, and to the final victory over death.

I am still so divided. I truly want to follow you, but I also want to follow my own desires and lend an ear to the voices that speak about prestige, success, pleasure, power, and influence. Help me to become deaf to these voices and more attentive to your voice, which calls me to choose the narrow road to life.

I know that Lent is going to be a very hard time for me. The choice for your way has to be made every moment of my life. I have to choose thoughts that are your thoughts, words that are your words, and actions that are your actions. There are not times or places without choices. And I know how deeply I resist choosing you.

Please, Lord, be with me at every moment and in every place. Give me the strength and the courage to live this season faithfully, so that, when Easter comes, I will be able to taste with joy the new life that you have prepared for me. 
Amen” (Henri Nouwen).

I’m still ruminating on what I heard this past Tuesday at Kairos. John Thomas, pastor of King of Kings Baptist Church and head of Living Hope in South Africa, spoke on healing.

He said that people will tell you that if you don’t receive the healing you prayed for, it’s because you don’t have enough faith or you have sin in your life. He called that idea rubbish, and I agree.

Healing in the Bible is always based not on the person’s faith but in God. God is always the author of healing. I’d say it’s not great faith in God that results in healing but faith in a great God. Besides, if the qualification for healing were sinlessness, we’d all be sunk.

I had one minor disagreement with John (and it was really a matter of semantics). He said that God doesn’t always heal. I say that God does– just not always in this lifetime.

The Apostle Paul speaks of a “thorn in the flesh” that he prayed for God to remove. It might have been a physical ailment or semi-blindness. The point is that God didn’t grant his request for healing. God responded that His power was perfected in Paul’s weakness.

Even if you do receive healing on this side of heaven, it’s incomplete. You still deal with the daily ailments and infirmities of growing old. Unless Jesus comes back soon, we will all eventually die. Even Lazarus got old, grew sick, and passed away again.

But God may choose to heal in heaven where the healing is complete and perfect. There is never again any sickness or pain or grief. There will never again be the disastrous effects of the broken and fallen world we live in.

I still pray for healing for those I love. I still believe that God can absolutely heal– whether instantly or over time or through medical science. Above all, I trust God’s ultimate plan as the best, no matter the outcome.

I know that illness will not have the last word. Pain won’t have the final say. Death is not the end for those whose hope is in Jesus.

I made it to Peter Davison’s turn as the Doctor. That makes the 5th doctor, which means that I am closer to the end of the classic series than the beginning.

I remember him from childhood as Tristan from the classic series All Creatures Great and Small. Back then, I had not even an inkling of what Doctor Who was.

Still, I love the concept that the Doctor can regenerated into an entirely new form and personality. That allows the show to continue when one actor decides to move on.

I also love how the companions come and go through out each Doctor’s tenure and tend to compliment him (and sometimes challenge him). Maybe I’m not picky enough, but I like ’em all.

The special effects are still nowhere near state of the art. Some of the acting (particularly from the villains) is way over the top. But there’s still something magical about it all.

Let the fun continue.

Last night, I wrote all about how much I still miss my first cat Lucy. I meant every word of it.

After Lucy crossed the rainbow bridge, part of me wanted to go to the animal shelter and find Lucy II, a carbon copy who would look and act exactly like the first.

I ended up with something in a few ways similar but in most ways the polar opposite. My second cat Peanut could not possibly look any different than Lucy.

Peanut has her own gentle way. In the 2 1/2 years I’ve known this little critter, not once have I heard her growl or hiss or snarl or even meow loudly. She’s the most soft-spoken feline I’ve ever known.

While Lucy was a social butterfly, this little gal’s as shy as they come. She does a lot of hiding when company comes over. She’ll only show herself for a very select few. I wonder if that’s based on some vague memory of some traumatic event from kittenhood (she was a rescue).

I suppose it’s possible to honor and grieve over the memory of Lucy while still cherishing and loving Peanut. After all, Peanut could never be a replacement. More like a compliment.

Who knows what she’ll be like when she gets older? Only time will tell.

Three years ago, we were celebrating your 17th birthday. At least I was celebrating. You were probably off napping someplace.

I had no idea what was to come. I had no clue that in four months, you would be gone. It hardly seems real that in the span of 6 days, you got sick and wasted away before my eyes.

I still miss you. I think about you every day. You weren’t perfect, but you were perfect for me. Your constant companionship, your loyal love, and your quiet presence got me through some hard days. Your soft little snore was a comfort to me in the middle of the night.

You were sometimes grumpy, sometimes feisty, but never dull. I knew you’d be waiting for me when I got home from a long day of work.

I could never replace you, but I got rescued by a little tortie kitten so that all the love I had for you could have someplace to go. She’s grown up into a gentle, laidback cat who loves her some belly rubs.

She’s like you in some ways, but in other ways the total opposite of you. I think you would have grown to like her.

I still visit your final resting place from time to time and talk with you. I never stay very long, but I always tell you that I still love you and still miss you. I always thank you for all the love and how you held on for as long as you could to be with me.

I know part of me thought you’d live forever– or at least until 30, but I can look back with gratitude for 17 wonderful years. I’d go back and do every single day of it again if I could, even those devastating last days.

Thanks again for all the love. You will always be my little baby.

“I don’t think the way you think. 
The way you work isn’t the way I work.” 
God’s Decree.
“For as the sky soars high above earth, 
so the way I work surpasses the way you work, 
and the way I think is beyond the way you think.
Just as rain and snow descend from the skies 
and don’t go back until they’ve watered the earth,
Doing their work of making things grow and blossom, 
producing seed for farmers and food for the hungry,
So will the words that come out of my mouth 
not come back empty-handed.
They’ll do the work I sent them to do, 
they’ll complete the assignment I gave them” (Isaiah 55:8-11).

I’m actually glad God doesn’t think the way I think. I’m thankful that He’s not answerable to me for His actions. I’m glad that I’m not the one who sits over God, making sure He measures up to my standards of what He would or would not do.

In the end, I know God is good. I know that while His ways may at times eclipse my understanding, I know that His heart in all things is 100% trustworthy.

After all, how can the finite mind possibly hope to contain all of the infinite that is in God? How can a being bound by time ever completely know the Eternal?

So in the end I place my trust in God and say, “Your will, not mine, be done.”

“Jesus calls us to recognize that gladness and sadness are never separate, that joy and sorrow really belong together, and that mourning and dancing are part of the same movement. That is why Jesus calls us to be grateful for every moment that we have lived, and to claim our unique journey as God’s way to mold our hearts to greater conformity with God’s own. The cross is the main symbol of our faith, and it invites us to find hope where we see pain, and to reaffirm the resurrection where we see death. The call to be grateful is a call to trust that every moment of our life can be claimed as the way of the cross that leads us to new life” (Henri Nouwen).

Lately, I’ve been reminded that you can’t really appreciate sunshine until you’ve had a few days in a row of grey rainy days.

If you think about it, if we had nothing but sunshine with no rain, we’d be in a desert. Rain may not be everyone’s favorite, but it is what causes life to flourish and grow.