Deacon Bob: SIX GIFTS ON MY BIRTHDAY

SIX GIFTS ON MY BIRTHDAY

Six gifts on my birthday,

not knick knacks and baubles,

those things that break,

get lost or stolen, rather gifts

of such tremendous value,

no price can be placed, nor

money spent. Six gifts, six

legacies of love, freely given,

not earned by any merit of

mine, gift beyond all gifts,

grace beyond all grace,

the abundance of God present

and placed in my life today.

The Gift Of Ruth

“What do I want to be when I grow up?”

A question on my lips from the time

I was small. Famous baseball

players and mountain men,

explorers and soldiers, composers

and artists who ushered into

the world revolutionary change.

But their myths, dressed up

reality, prove that our heroes

are fickle, changing on a whim,

disappointment abounds and

character flaws tend to jettison

them out of consciousness,

used up symbols of who we

might want to be if not life

was different, that is with

one great exception, you.

Never failing to inspire, you

embody ideals held so dearly

by me, whatever disappointment

I have ever voiced has been that

disappointment found only in

me. I stand in your shadow

in awe that you not only

want to be seen with me, but

that you love me as you have

loved no other. Long have I sat

by your feet, your student,

learning, and watching, and

dreaming of the day in which

I might love as you love, a

day that may never come,

but a lifetime well lived and

spent in the joyful task of trying.

The Gift Of Andy

Well I remember your birth,

unwrapped from your mother’s

womb, behind the doctor I stand

stunned, silent, scared. Witnessing

your birth, my first intimate

awareness, and encounter with

the presence of God, an

invasion of the sacred filling

that sterilized space as profound

as when Moses approached the

sacred fire of the burning bush.

I stand stunned by the sacred,

struck silent in awe of creation,

and scared, deathly afraid at my

inadequateness and unpreparedness

to be your father, you dad.

Never taken for granted are those

great gifts given to us in life, and

never taken for granted are you.

Though long working days, nights,

weeks pull me from you, first and

foremost are you in my mind and

my heart. Very little changes over

sixty-three years of life. Still, to

this day when I see you, I remain,

stunned, silent, and scared at

how greatly God blessed me

the moment you were born.

The Gift Of Luke

The wonder in your eyes the moment

you saw your mom and touched her

face, wonder spreading into your

signature smile as you danced

round and round the dance floor

with her at your Uncle Paul’s wedding.

Wonder is what I remember

looking out the window over

a sink full of soapy water and

dirty dishes as you zoomed by

on your bicycle in front of our

house over the grass, weeds

and broken masonry that was

our sidewalk. Poor eyesight

never an obstacle to that

you wanted to pursue, whether

it be baseball, learning to

drive, playing guitar, education,

tenaciously, carefully climbing

over barriers in the way,

using courage, fortitude

and love as your means of

navigating through life.

Placed into my own crucible,

I drank deeply from your well

of courage, fortitude and love

to get me through my own

troubles, remembering the

wonder in your eyes and

the smile upon your face as

you touched your mother’s

face and danced.

The Gift Of Meg

We sat, you on my lap,

as Dumbo’s mother sang

“Baby Mine Don’t You Cry”

to her forlorn little elephant

waif, your chest heaving as

you sobbed into my shoulder

drawing tears to my eyes,

moved by your great compassion

and care. At the age of three,

your memory for melody,

a trained musician’s ear,

capturing note for note and

pitch for pitch the intricate

melody of “The Imperial March”.

‘Twas true you were conceived

shortly following the viewing of

“The Empire Strikes Back”, I

wondering if that melody was

somehow imprinted in your

DNA at conception or at birth.

Or, is it the DNA made present

by some long, lost ancestor

giving you this uncanny ability

to play back what you hear with

unerring accuracy. I see at times

myself in you, a vision of what

I might have been had I been

born with two X chromosomes.

That cynical twist to your humor,

ascertaining with acute accuracy

life’s intersection with others.

Yet, within you dwells much

of your mom, not just in your

beauty and demeanor, but

an underlying love and directness,

the overall care and compassion

for those most vulnerable. Time

has long passed since last you

sat on my lap and watched

Dumbo’s mother sing to her

little baby, but oh how I

have enjoyed my life with

you, my “Baby mine.”

The Gift Of Beth

At birth, you greeted life with

song, singing your life

into existence. “Mommy good

girl” and “Somewhere Out

There” some of your greatest

hits as a child. From the

stage in the backseat of the

car, to the stage in the high

school auditorium, to the

smoke-filled Karaoke bar

you have sung your entire

life. You readiness to blacken

an eye and bloody a lip to

right an injustice, an inheritance

from your Aunt Mary, I dare

say. Fiercely independent,

knowing your limits, and

service to others your creed

in life. Well I remember,

your keeping me company

during my long illness, the

theme song of “How I Met

Your Mother” evoking a

fond memory during a very

hard time in my life. You

once asked whether our love

for you was merited on the

basis of having to whistle.

Hardly, for what power can

the ability to whistle have

when you have been loved

from the moment you

came singing from your

mother’s womb?

The Gift Of Olivia

Welcoming, oh, how the love

of two people welcome

into their lives the love of a

child. Daughters and Sons,

some born into this love,

and others adopted. Ah,

but you are more special,

you became my daughter,

the avenue of your entrance

into the heart of my family

through the love of my son,

nuptials blessed, his dream

fulfilled, and I? I am gifted with

another daughter to love.

Extraordinary from the start,

passing into the hearts first

of my parents, double dating

no less, long football Sundays

trapped on the leather couch,

running the familial gauntlet

of Andy’s maternal relatives,

all with such ease and grace.

Long an artist before formally

acknowledged, your gift of

composition, light and color

captures images long lasting.

The gift of your self equally

capturing my heart, a heart

that welcomes you and

cherishes you, my daughter,

as mine own.