Today is my birthday. I’m ** years old.

Thanks to Uncle Orv and Aunt Rachel, along with our reader Omie, who sent cards (Omie also sent a gift. I approve of this. Gifts to bloggers are always in order. Especially on their birthdays. Especially when they’re crotchety old bachelors).

I took myself out to Baker’s Square for supper tonight, to celebrate. I don’t go there often, not because I don’t like the food (I think it’s been getting better over the years) but because at my age, and following the reflux surgery I had, I have a hard time consuming a meal and a having a piece of French Silk pie on top of it. And skipping the French Silk is not to be thought of. Better to skip the meal.

I ordered from the Light Menu, but I’m still pretty stuffed. Nevertheless, I will not have it said that I did nothing to celebrate. Almost nothing, yes, but not nothing.

I’m still pretty beat from a weekend of almost constant social interaction (oh, the humanity!). We gathered at Brother Moloch’s home in Iowa for a double celebration (or observation. Or something). There was the baptism of their former exchange student, a young woman from Germany who is back temporarily for some medical training. “What?” you ask. “An adult baptism in a Lutheran church?” Yes, we do do them, in certain circumstances. This young woman was born in East Germany under Communism and has never been baptized. She’s been making up her mind on the matter for several years, under the influence of Moloch and his family. Now she’s decided that she wants to enter the church. Her parents and maternal grandparents came over for the event too. Her parents speak English but the grandparents don’t, but we all got along excellently. We spent most of our time sitting outdoors, which the Germans seemed to prefer. Fortunately the weather was mild, and it’s been a dry year so there weren’t many mosquitoes. We made conversation (or sat pretty much silent in my case) and watched the fireflies and listened to the cicadas.

There was also a commissioning for my Youngest Niece, whom we put on a plane for China about 6:30 a.m. Monday. She’ll be teaching English there for two years, under the same program her sister attempted a couple years back, but had to abandon due to ill health. There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth, but we’re all proud of her.

We also spent some time fooling around with an ultralight plane Brother Moloch bought and hopes to re-sell. He never got it off the ground, and didn’t really try to. He just wanted to figure out how the controls responded. My personal impression is that the thing was designed by Terry Gilliam and Dr. Kevorkian, but those who tooled it around like a go-cart had a good time, and they only tore up a small portion of the cornfields that surround the air strip.

For my birthday, my brothers took me out for a hamburger. The symbolism suffered, however, in that the local diner did not have Heinz ketchup for my Heinz birthday. But I choose to believe that they’re boycotting Heinz in disgust at Teresa Heinz Kerry, and I can get behind that.

It’s my birthday. Humor me.

They’re talking about Sven Birkerts’ article over on World Magazine’s blog. For the viewpoint of readers with no stake in lit-blogging or print reviewing, read this thread.

Crucial in the identity of a writer, especially for those who “write for God,” is the hope that something in the work will resonate in the audience, affecting the reader long after the book has been shelved. I believe that individuals, especially those who hope for a close connection with Christ, are constantly working to discover how to view themselves and others, and that the work is not likely to be finished this side of heaven. May this issue challenge you if you have become comfortable, may it soothe you if you are lost, and may you enjoy every page.

That’s how Kimberly Culbertson, editor-in-chief of Relief Journal, closes her introduction to the spring 2007 issue. She’s dead right.

Relief is an excellent literary journal. The spring issue has the winner of their Daily Sacrament contest, coordinated with the blog faith*in*fiction, which is Don Hoesel’s “Goodbye Sophie.” It’s a beautiful, challenging story of a musician conversing with a fan. Relief stories, non-fiction, and poetry have a wonderful flavor, like a soup with the best ingredients. No wow-factor, just a lingering satisfaction. Do yourself or a friend a favor by subscribing to this journal.

Speaking of nakedness and the like, here’s a letter from a few months ago which recounts an interesting Bible study on Ruth. About mid-letter, Mrs. Jackson writes, “Ruth, as you may recall, is both listening and following Naomi’s advice to have a kinsman Boaz help them in their impoverished state. Naomi tells Ruth to go to the threshing floor and sleep at Boaz’s feet. This is where the priestess popped out with ‘In seminary, I learned that when feet is mentioned in the bible it means . . .'” You can probably see it coming. (via Videlicet)