Why I Don’t Make a Big Deal About My Birthday

Introduction

Every year when December 5th shows up on the calendar, people ask the same question:
“So, what are you doing for your birthday?”

This Friday, I turn 47—and just like every other year, the plan is pretty simple: not much.

It’s not because I dislike celebrating. It’s not because I’m moody or trying to be overly spiritual. It’s because life, loss, and the long road of God’s providence have shaped how I view this particular day.

The truth is, my relationship with birthdays changed a long time ago.

1. Growing Up Poor Shaped My Expectations

When you grow up poor, you learn early that some things just aren’t in the budget.

For us, Christmas was the priority. My birthday—sitting just twenty days before—usually got folded right into the holiday.

It wasn’t my parents’ fault. They did what they could with what they had. But as a kid, you don’t always understand that. You just notice what doesn’t happen.

That early pattern shaped how I came to view my own birthday—not as a day of personal celebration, but as something small, simple, and unremarkable.

2. The One Time I Tried to Celebrate…

There was one year—around age 11—when I got permission to have a real birthday party. To me, that felt monumental.

I sat down at my dad’s old Tandy 1000 computer, fired up the dot-matrix printer, and created homemade flyers. I handed them out to classmates and neighborhood kids. I had a whole plan. A playlist. A dream.

When the day came, I set up on the front porch. I played a mixtape I recorded off the radio, watching the street, waiting for the first friend to show.

No one ever did.

An hour passed. Then another. And I realized I was just an 11-year-old kid sitting alone on a porch, wondering why nobody came.

It wasn’t bitterness—just disappointment. But that moment left a mark. It taught me that expectations can hurt, that celebrations sometimes disappoint, and that tying your worth to a day on the calendar is a dangerous habit to form.

3. The Older I Get, the Clearer My Priorities Become

Fast-forward to adulthood, and the years only reinforced that early lesson in a spiritual way.

At 47, life looks different. You recognize how fast time moves. You see how fragile it all is. You learn what matters—and what doesn’t.

I don’t need a spotlight to feel grateful. I don’t need attention to feel loved. And I don’t need a birthday party to know I have value.

God’s mercy reminds me every morning that I’m alive only because He wills it.

4. Gratitude Doesn’t Require Balloons

Some think not celebrating a birthday means you’re ungrateful. Nothing could be further from the truth.

My gratitude has only deepened over the years:

For Liz
For my sons
For my granddaughter
For every year God has upheld me
For every valley He’s carried me through
For every joy and every wound He’s used to shape me

My gratitude is quieter now—steady, rooted, sincere. Sometimes the purest thanksgiving is whispered, not shouted.

5. I Don’t Want a Day That Revolves Around Me

This part has only intensified with age and theology.

I know myself well enough to feel uncomfortable with a day centered around “celebrating me.” My life isn’t a trophy of self-made success—it’s a display of God’s grace and patience.

If anything is worth celebrating, it’s Christ:

His mercy
His providence
His protection
His forgiveness
His faithfulness across 47 years

Not me. Not my accomplishments. Not my birth.

6. Entering 47 Feels More Reflective Than Festive

There’s something about standing on the edge of 50.

You start thinking more about your legacy… your family… your calling… your failures and growth… the years behind you and whatever years remain ahead.

Birthdays become checkpoints—moments to pause, breathe, and consider how God has led you.

Reflection feels more natural than celebration, and I’m okay with that.

7. The Only “Big Deal” Is God’s Grace

No, I don’t make a big deal about my birthday. Not because I’m jaded. Not because of some lonely childhood memory. Not because I’m avoiding attention.

I simply know that every good thing in my life traces back to God’s hand—not my own.

Another year older.
Another year sustained.
Another year covered by sovereignty and grace.

And honestly? That’s enough for me. More than enough.

Soli Deo Gloria.

TheoloJeep