An Egg Shell and Our Generic and Geriatric Wild Birthday Party

Birthdays for four members in our core family fall in July, so Donald and Helen threw a generic birthday party at our house Sunday — which was nobody’s actual birthday.

As Ginny and I cleaned up the yard ahead of time, she discovered the shell of a tiny bird egg. She speculated that the baby bird has hatched and now flies free in the trees; I speculated that a snake attacked the nest, cracked the egg and ate the baby bird.

Seeing the same evidence, the open egg shell, we arrived at different conclusions. We evaluate evidence according to our individual worldviews.

Thus, presented with the same evidence about the resurrection of Christ from the grave, different people arrive at different conclusions; some believe He rose from the grave, others believe he rotted in the dirt.

Unfortunately, our views can be clouded. The Scripture says that Light enters the world but men love darkness rather than light because our deeds are evil.

So, Ginny envisions a happy, flapping little bird, I envision a happy, sleeping snake.

Compatibility of worldviews is not the main strength of our marriage.

Come birthday party time, Rachael, the quintessential party girl, arrived dressed in a black shroud carrying her sword and intoning, “John Cowart, you are now a year closer to dying”.

What a kick-off for a party!

Donald and Helen brought me a new grill (could it be they felt guilty about burning the handles off the old grill at the last cookout?) and they provided all the goodies for kabobs.

I provided a lovely table centerpiece appropriate to a burger cookout. And yes, I designed this centerpiece myself. Talent will out:

Rachel’s costume springboarded us all into a 45-minute conversation about funeral customs. Are we party people, or what!

Then we feasted.

Afterward, as is our custom, I presented a devotional though. I based it on Psalm 31:15 “My times are in Thy hand”. To illustrate my thoughts, I’d sawed up lengths of paint-stirrer sticks to represent days and weeks and months and years. These formed a puzzle that everyone had to piece together to spell out John Cowart’s Meaning Of Life, which — while not up to Monty Python’s standards — works for me.

What a hoot!

Donald and Helen donned silly hats:

The hats are actually fishing caps with plastic frames to display a fishing license, but Ginny and I put photos of the kids in those spaces.

Now, for my own wonderful presents:

Jennifer and Pat gave me a set of lottery scratch-off tickets, thus making me a potential millionaire. When I pack Ginny’s lunches next week, I’ll put a ticket a day in her bag so that when she scratches off a winner, she can pick up her coffee mug and walk straight out of that office and never go back.

Patricia designed a card for me based on an idea from my book Strangers On The Earth which contains a chapter about how Roman soldiers burned Christians at the stake:

She also presented me with this lovely dog skull entwined with lime-green ribbons. (See my June 26^th blog posting to see why her gift is so appropriate).

For my birthday present, Eve made a contribution in my name to Mission Aviation Fellowship, one of my favorite charities. I’m not sure if she bought a whole airplane or what, but I’m greatly honored at her thoughtfulness.

Then some folks splashed in the pool. Barbara and Lisa (both music nuts) discussed opera (ad nauseam). The younger folks gathered around my computer (I think they were visiting sites parental blocked at home). One of the girls arranged a date on-line with a guy claiming to be an attorney (I advised her to tell him that her Dad is a Marine Corps instructor in small arms combat — hey, on-line I can be anything). Other folks discussed the merits of various horse-back riding schools. Randy and I marveled at being friends for over 30 years and how cheating, low-life, yankee insurance companies are raising home-owner rates in Florida by close to 75% this year. Pat and Jennifer told everyone about how one of their Chihuahuas catches houseflies in its mouth and places all the bodies in one pile??? Ginny let it all swirl around her (I wonder if she’d turned off her hearing aid?)

So, we partied for six hours.

No neighbors called the cops (this time).

Cake, ice cream, Barbara’s pie, strawberries, avocado, and straw for the vegetarian among us.

Then they all finally went home.

Partied out, Ginny and I retired to the back room to read (me, Florida history; she, a murder mystery) and we did not even speak to eachother for hours and hours.

Party till it hurts!