It was not until I was in my forties that I learned my real birth date. The explanation is too long to share. Today, on my 66th birthday (I think!) I am pondering that having two birthdays really has had its advantages.

• My family and friends have had more time to shop for excuses why the 48-hour “birthday period” slipped their notice.

• I get to have a free restaurant dessert two days in a row.

• I get to legally stutter when asked my birth date by a government official.

• I get to spend a lifetime wondering what will be put on my gravestone.

(I often ponder: If I die on the international dateline, both my date of birth and my date of death will be negotiable. Only the dash will be accurate!)

• I get to wonder if one day, if someone should choose to do my biography (highly unlikely), historians will fight over the date. Then again, there could be a two-day national holiday. Dream on, Jimmy.

• But, this year in particular, I get to spend one whole birth day in London and the other whole birth day in Paris. How many people in the world get to say that?

I am mindful of Ecclesiastes 4:9 “Two are better than one…” Okay, so it’s a misuse of that verse…but hey, these are my birthday

Then again, there’s a third birthday that tops even the other two. That is that 17th of November, 1971 when God’s Spirit drew me to trust in Jesus Christ alone for my salvation. Though on one of the other two dates I drew my first breath of earthly air, on this third date — my spiritual birthday — I drew my first breath of eternal life. And that, my friends, is the greatest day of my life.