Our house was robbed.
That very Sunday morning, while we were at church.
And the thieves were neighborhood boys my brother and I had grown up with.
They ransacked our house, stealing things from all over, including the drawers next to my bed.
Our family spent the day with police and detectives, filing reports and counting our losses.
That birthday was not really worth remembering... there was a good bit worth forgetting.
My family worked hard to celebrate in the days to follow, to redeem the brokenness of the day. But that's really what stands out the most.
I do love birthdays... but that one wasn't so good.