Legacy
Birthday
But he
that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.
--
2 Corinthians 10:17
My adorable, zestful friend Julie Erickson was
facing The Big 5-0 this summer. People wanted to throw her a stand-up cocktail
party with lots of black crepe paper, prunes and the Grim Reaper. There'd be
lots of hoopla, lots of funny cards rubbing in her advancing age.
But
that's not Julie. She's fun, but she runs deep. She hatched a big, fat, hairy
wish: she wanted to share a concert on the beach with her friends, featuring
songs that would glorify . . . not Julie . . . but God.
And
that's exactly what she got. By all accounts, it was the most fantastic 50th
birthday party anyone had ever seen.
"It
really wasn't about me," she said. "It really was for His overall glory."
Eight
couples came forward to co-host the sunset picnic and put on a beautiful spread
for 125 people.
Instead
of gifts, donations were encouraged to www.SharedHope.com,
which delivers girls out of international sexual slavery, one of Julie's "heart
burdens."
Dear
friends offered their cabin on a gorgeous pond outside the city for the concert.
There was a picturesque fountain, the sprawling Platte River nearby, and most
of all, the beach. It wasn't fancy: after dinner, guests walked down an old
mossy staircase, the beach was lit by tiki torches, and the electrical wiring
was from the 1920s or so. But it was perfect: unique, private, and oozing with
personality.
Her
husband, Bill, put his back into the task. He rented thousands of dollars worth
of sound equipment, and assembled a band with two vocalists, a keyboard artist,
a bass player, and himself on drums. They worked up 12 songs by Julie's
favorite Christian singer, the incomparable Nichole Nordeman.
These
lyrics had seen Julie through crises like the death of her father. They were
precious. These songs told what she was feeling on this big milestone birthday
better than she ever could. She was eager for her friends to hear them, knowing
that many had never heard a note of Christian music outside church, or weren't
church-goers at all.
The
day of the party dawned searing hot, eventually reaching 100 degrees, with 100%
humidity. Bill built a stage, shoveling sand, laying in place big eight-foot by
four-foot boards, stringing out a million miles of electrical cord, and
adjusting the amps, instruments and lights right up to the start of the party.
Everyone
went into overdrive doing last-minute tasks. Julie was stressed out, hot and
sweaty. Would the wiring hold up? Would people get lost? Would they think the
whole thing was weird, corny and colossally dumb?
Suddenly,
a supernatural calm came over her. "It was like, we set the stage, and we could
step back now and let the Holy Spirit work," she said. "I knew it didn't matter
if my makeup was running off my face as if I'd jumped into the pond myself.
He'd take it from there."
Everything
went beautifully. The long, glowing sunset gave way to darkness. There was soft
clapping between songs, but otherwise, everyone just soaked it in. Near the
end, a sign-language interpreter stood up for a song about gratitude, and
someone shined a spotlight on her. The song was about asking God for the simple
things in life, and how He is so good at giving us what we need. It was
powerful.
And
then the finale, the song called "Legacy":
I want to leave a legacy.
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to You enough
To make a mark on things?
I want to leave an offering:
A child of mercy and grace
Who blessed Your name
unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy.
When
it ended, people rose quietly, hugged Julie, and filed out, as if they'd just
been to a holy place. Which they had.
Happy
birthday, Julie. Your wish came true. The light that shined that night outdid
50 candles by far, old girl. You left a legacy, all right. You took the priceless
birthday gifts of faith, hope and love that He gave you . . . and passed them
along. †
