Birthdays always make me pause. They’ve changed a lot for me over the years. When I was a kid, they were filled with excitement—cake, games, gifts, balloons. As I’ve grown older, the celebrations have become quieter, simpler… but the meaning has deepened.
These days, birthdays feel less about the party and more about perspective. I wake up and realize I’ve been given another year—another 365 days to live, love, serve, and grow. Another year to reflect on the journey and realign with my purpose. It’s humbling to think about it: not everyone gets that privilege.
The Bible doesn’t talk much about birthday celebrations, at least not in the way we do them now. We don’t see Jesus throwing a party with streamers and a cake shaped like a fish. But what we do see is how deeply He valued life. He was present with people in their most human moments. He rejoiced with them. He mourned with them. He paused to acknowledge people who felt invisible. And He reminded them—and us—that each life is sacred.
If Jesus were physically sitting at my table on my birthday, I think He’d lock eyes with me and simply say, “I see you. I’m proud of how far you’ve come. And I’m not done with you yet.” That would be the real gift—His affirmation. His love. His presence.
Each year, I find myself asking the same questions:
What did this last year teach me?
Where did I grow?
Where did I miss the mark?
How did I love others—and how well did I let others love me?
And maybe the biggest one of all is whether I am becoming more like Jesus.
Psalm 90:12 says, “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” That verse has taken root in me over the years. The older I get, the more I realize how fragile and fast this life is. Numbering our days isn’t about being morbid—it’s about being mindful. It’s about remembering that time is not guaranteed and that what we do with it truly matters.
I’ve come to believe that birthdays are a reminder—not just that we’re aging, but that we’re entrusted with time. And that time is Kingdom currency, no matter how ordinary it feels. A conversation, a smile, a shared meal, a moment of compassion carry eternal weight. On the hard days, when life feels like it’s standing still or falling apart, I remind myself: my time here can still make a difference. Even if it’s just for one person.
There are seasons where I’ve felt like I wasn’t doing enough. Where I questioned my purpose or felt like I’d missed the mark. Maybe you’ve felt that too. But even in those moments, I’m learning that God hasn’t checked out. He doesn’t count my value by my productivity. He sees my heart. He sees the quiet acts of faithfulness. And He’s always inviting me to keep going.
So now, when I blow out the candles or open a birthday card, I let it be more than a celebration—I let it be a recommissioning. A reminder that I’m still here for a reason. There’s still work to be done. That the love I’ve received isn’t just for me to enjoy but to give away freely.
Jesus celebrates us—not just for living, but for living on purpose. For choosing hope. For pursuing peace. For loving people who are hard to love. For getting back up after we fall. For believing, even in the waiting.
So, here’s to another year. Another chance.
To live intentionally.
To love relentlessly.
To give generously.
To grow spiritually.
To stay present.
To be kind.
To reflect Jesus in all I do—even when it’s hard.
Whether your birthday is coming up soon, just passed, or feels far off, I hope you’ll take a moment to reflect on the beauty of your story and the impact of your days. Because your time here matters. And no matter how many candles are on your cake, your best work for the Kingdom may still be ahead of you.
(Psalm 90:12, NIV) Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
