There is still no cure for the common birthday.
It’s Gerry’s birthday today—seven perfect tens.
This man is generous and always has an encouraging word. He thinks about the other person before himself.
He has a heart for serving and will throw himself in wherever he sees something that needs doing, never waiting to be asked.
His is strong in his faith and genuine in his desire to go deeper.
He is fun-loving with a wacky sense of humour that, at times, makes me just a little bit (okay, a lot) crazy.
Aged to perfection, growing richer and more mellow with each passing year. All original parts—and even one little extra one this year for which we are very thankful.
He changed my life all those years ago when he invited me to go for lunch one Sunday after church. And the rest is history.
I am blessed to be walking through life at his side.
Happy Birthday, Gerry. I love you.
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In other news I received my blog books yesterday—one book for every year since 2008. I read 2009 yesterday. Three things that defined the year: grandma-hood, getting down to the business of writing my memoir, and stress—lots and lots of stress. It’s fascinating to look back and see how much has changed in eight years, and to see those things that remain constant. Lots of material there to mine for writing ideas. I’m glad I took the time to create the books.