a january journey: all things new with Jesus

i know, i do it too. as january one draws close, i begin to look close. i begin to scrutinize the excess and the process and, if i'm being honest here, i might even be a little tempted to obsess. i can't seem to ignore the "r" word which is tossed around just about everywhere in this week between christmas and new year's. resolution! 

i remember being a young girl, maybe 5th grade, when i heard the new year's resolution phrase for the first time. i am pretty sure that was the same year i filled five pages in my diary with resolutions. five pages! i was going to fix everything and everybody. because when you're ten you truly believe anything is possible, right?

i think that was the same year i discovered anne of green gables. {whom i still wildly love and adore}. one of my very favorite anne quotes is, “isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” (l.m. montgomery). i mean seriously, don't you just love that? just like the mischievous anne, i was a girl who messed up and made mistakes all the time, every day. still do, in fact. and though i'm not writing five pages of resolutions in my diary these days, i am always a little bit excited for tomorrow and always in line for a new year.


a brand new year.

it's just so sparkly and bright spanking clean, isn't it? so attractive. so desirable.

who doesn't love the promise of a new year?

the slate wiped clean. the mistakes erased. the past forgotten. the future wonderful and wide open.

come january one, is there anyone not ready to turn the page and begin anew? 

afresh? 

again?

i know i'm always ready.

even our minnesota landscape seems to cooperate --  clean, white snow everywhere. almost pristine. frozen, frigid temperatures crystalizing all of nature and covering the brown mush of the winter earth. (looking for a silver lining as i write this morning in below zero temps)!

and that lofty resolution word flies around, fluttering in front of our holi-dazed eyes. leading us down the path of grand expectations and high, high hopes. part of us likes it. part of us dreads it. and most of us aren't quite sure what to do with it. you don't have to raise your hands, but how many of you (of us) have started down that noble road of resolutions only to realize halfway there it just wasn't going to work. you just weren't going to cut it. you had set your goals too high and your sights too far. whether it was to be nicer, get skinnier, eat better, work harder or shop smarter. sound familiar? sure does to me!

because as much as we want to turn over a new leaf and start off on the right foot, we have this tendency to make it about us: what we can do. what we want. who we are. and the truth is, even in january, it's not about us. it's not about our strength or determination or will power or commitment. it's just not.

sure all those things are important, but if we really want a change and a chance for new, we have to learn, not to try harder, but to trust deeper. as much as we all feel encouraged january one, i have a sense that january thirty-one is often fraught with discouragement. january one might seem full of possibility and promise, but january thirty-one can might come with its share of defeat and disappointment. because somewhere in those thirty days in between we had to face the fact that we are simply not enough.

and so often our thoughts go in the direction of "if-only-i-had-tried-harder."

well, this january i want to introduce a new series which isn't about our trying harder, but about our turning to Him. i'm planning a january journey in the direction of Jesus. i don't want it to be about what i can do to make things new, but what He can do, is doing, wants to do and will do!

our resolutions are good. but His redemption is better. and, the beautiful news? our Jesus is very much in the business of redemption. He redeems all things. even our old, tired, worn out, last-year selves.

“and He who was seated on the throne said, “behold, I am making all things new.” also He said, “write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” ~ revelation 21:5

His Word is clear, "I am making all things new." did you get that? HE makes them new, not us. He, the One on the throne of heaven, Him. He is in charge of the new.

HE is the one who turns over the leaf and wipes clean the slate.
HE is the one who pushes the re-do button and flips the reset switch.
HE is the one who gives us our strength and stamina to start afresh.

and reader, i am pretty sure that deserves a heartfelt a-men!

what's more, i just love, love, love how He even tells us to "write this down ..." He wants us to record in our journals and spell out in our diaries His promise. and the good news is, we don't need five pages, we just need five words: "I make all things new!"

do we want to embrace a truly new year? if so, we will need to embrace the maker of all things truly new.

so friend, consider yourself invited on ...

  a january journey:  all things new. 

we begin january 1st!
you can expect much the same as my october prayer challenge and my november gratitude series -- a picture, a verse, and a few thoughts. you'll find this tiny devotional post each morning on my even-the-sparrow facebook page. please click on the link and follow along there. 

also, i would love for you to share it with others! 

“forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.  see, I am doing a new thing! now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”  ~ isaiah 43:18-19

empty and beautiful

it's quiet now. a part of me feels like -- finally.  and a part of me feels a little bit melancholy.  you know the feeling when the holiday comes and goes and the bustling house empties of all things bright and busy.  when it empties again of children draped across couches and countertops.  mine all started back to school this week. it wasn't without a little nudge out the door.  we prayed for joyful hearts as we walked back into the world of routine.  we prayed for a fresh start and renewed vigor. we prayed just to hear our alarm and remember our lunch boxes.

i walked yesterday in cool air.  no snow in atlanta this year and i almost wished there was. believe it or not, i kind of wished for the white crunch and the crisp cold of a northern january.  when we lived up in ohio,  i would walk our two big dogs, bailey and madison, through the white woods along the chagrin river and i remember the simple and stark loveliness of those afternoons.  the school bell would ring, signaling the day's end, and i'd leave lesson plans and papers behind on my desk, pick up the dogs, and head for my solitary path along a sleepy winter river.  the black trees emptied of leaves seemed charcoal sketched across a silver sky. black and white and clean.  except for my bounding and barking golden retrievers, everything still and quiet -- a snow covered blank canvas. in these empty afternoon woods i found almost an ethereal and pristine kind of beauty.


now my home, here in the south, stripped of the merry and bright looks unsettlingly spare this week.   furniture moved back into place and pine needles picked up.  candles taken from the windows and the holiday hoopla shoved back into boxes in basement storage.  i sat last night on the couch writing and felt completely uninspired with the absolute lack of christmas.  no white lights to warm the room, no pine to remind me.  i finally got up and added wood to the dying fire in need of something warm.  that helped a little and i thought, "i don't quite like it, but it's time."  time to empty things out and clean things up.  and this is good. it is not the good of Christmas, but it is it's own kind of good. there's a special beauty in paring down and putting away.  a fresh face like the stark black against clean white.


as much as i hate to see it all go, i know the time has come.  we have all grown a little weary of vacuuming pine needles each day and unplugging strands of lights every evening. this morning,  i light a single candle nearby in my kitchen and it will be enough.  warm clothes empty out of the dryer and i fold slowly while bella colors close by.  no other sound than the dishwasher's hum and her occasional comment. the chaos is remarkably gone.  i just have to get used to this new kind of quiet. this new kind of simple. this new kind of empty.


i am always amazed at how christmas seems to disappear from the aisles of target almost overnight.  gone are the must-have trinkets of december and in their place the allure of an organized life: boxes and bins and crates and containers.  they truly make these displays a work of art.  how can we resist the purchase of rubbermaid? nothing says happy new year like a well ordered life.  resolutions and recommitments.  life was messy before...but as january empties out and the clutter clears i have renewed hope for pulling it all together.  pantries and attics and basements and closets and cabinets...the sky is the limit.


standing in target, i stare at all these empty bins stacked on end caps and am reminded of empty pots.  empty vessels.  the rubbermaid is nowhere near as lovely as earthenware and fire-glazed ceramic,  but the picture is the same:  empty and waiting.  and i am reminded of how necessary it is to empty ourselves on occasion so that we can be filled with Him.  filled with something good, something better.  if we are crammed full of our own stuff, we leave so little room.  and isn't it Him and His light which truly fills?  which truly warms? there is something to be said for a time of emptying out.


when we empty out our stuff... our busy-ness... our bustle...our burdens...when we empty out our very selves, we become open.  space is created. margin is made.  simple beauty.  stark contrast.  emptied vessels waiting to be filled with something better, more beautiful.

"empty vessels may be filled; but vessels that are full already can receive

 no more. The man who knows his own emptiness

 can receive abundance of knowledge, and wisdom, and grace, from Christ;" 

~ charles spurgeon

and whether in the crunch of white snow, or the quiet of warm sand, or on the (almost) needle free carpets of our christmas-less homes, we can choose this time to walk emptied of us.  embrace the open beauty of something still and the quiet lovely of something clean.


and be filled.

  "you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand."  ~psalm 16:11

who holds your year?

 i woke up this morning thinking about last year.  not last night, but thinking about new year's eve a year ago.  we shared it with our friends, mike and meritt,  and then went home before midnight.  (tired toddler issues). the rest of the evening we played a board game, ate some junk food and watched a little tv.  normal new year's eve stuff. and, like millions of others around the world, when the ball dropped, we toasted the new year--kissed, hugged, hoped.

not one of us ever considered that we'd face something like cancer in just a few months of this toasting. i always take time to think about what the new year might hold, but not in the farthest reaching corners of my mind could i have guessed 2011 would bring with it such a dreaded diagnosis.  for some reason, my wiring is such, that i've never been tremendously anxious about the future.  i've always had a pretty positive outlook, a  pretty healthy perspective.  but within just a few months, that bright and shiny new year turned awfully dark. black, in fact. and i learned something big in 2011:  sometimes "the new" can be scary.  i had never imagined dealing with such a large medical crisis.  we were coasting along as a new family just fine.  bella had only been home a few months, it was her first christmas and her first new year.  it was an unbelievably beautiful time filled with happiness and health and hope.  we were just settling into the skin of our family of seven, just getting into our groove and so i toasted 2011 with great expectation, with great hope.   obviously, just expecting more of the same--more of a good thing. more love, more grace, more beauty. more.

but the truth is, when we stand on the precipice of a new year, we have no idea what is out ahead.  we hope for the best and we pray for our future, but there's really no way to know what the new year might bring.  perhaps that is not what you wanted to read today. it certainly isn't a message i long to listen to. but this morning i woke up and read through all the facebook posts and status updates written throughout the weekend. one after another, i read words declaring "2012 will be good, will be great, will be better!"  but what if it's not?   what if it comes and it brings something harder, hotter, heavier?  in 2011, i had a friend who lost his mother, a friend who lost her son, a friend who lost his job, a friend who lost his way, and a friend who lost her battle.  none of it expected.  none of it planned for.  none of it present, or seemingly possible, in their new year's toast just one year ago.  we don't want to think of the unthinkable -- certainly not on new year's eve or new year's day--at least i don't.  i'd much prefer to focus on the kissing and the hugging and the great hoping.

just yesterday morning, i wrote a piece about new hope.  and i believe every word i scratched out in that blog post.  i really am not attempting to contradict myself one bit between these two days, but i felt compelled when i woke again to write a little further, to travel a little farther...to look a little deeper into true hope.  not the cross your fingers kind of hope. not the close your eyes and click your heels kind of hope.  i guess that's what i've been reading in some of those facebook comments and it's what i've been hearing on the news or in the supermarket ...  "i sure do hope 2012 is better... i'm going to try harder, work longer, love stronger, play nicer, run faster, be kinder."  but is that really hope? and while resolutions are good and helpful and appropriate, they aren't everything.  we can make all the wonderful resolutions in the world and still wake up on a sunny april day and be told we have cancer.  

i guess what i'm writing about this morning, is that our hope really has to be in something more than a new year.  it has to be in something more than ourselves and our january resolutions.  i am always writing things down. and every new year, since i can remember, i've made a list of things to change, to work on, to improve, to address, to fix.  last year, as i scribbled down my thoughts in my pretty little leather journal, i had no idea a malignant tumor was growing violent in my breast.  had i known, it might have changed what i was writing.  it might have changed what i was thinking. it might have even changed how i was living.  i don't know. i didn't know.

2011 took a lot from me, no doubt it took a lot from me as a woman. but 2011 wasn't in charge.  2011 doesn't have the final say.  2011 is just a year.  and in God's hands it is nothing more than a drop in the bucket,  it is nothing more than an eyelash on eternity.   God who created minutes and months and years and all of time,  He is the holder of 2011 and 2012 and 2013.  and just because i got cancer, doesn't mean He let go for a minute.  it doesn't mean He set down the year and forgot about it or forgot about me.  not one bit.  He held and He continues to hold.  and that is what i am writing about this morning.  our hope can't be in just another new year.  in it, we're sure to fail and fall.  we need something more than just january. we need something more than the fresh flip of a calendar year.  

we walked through those horrific months of cancer and surgery because God was holding us.  it didn't have anything to do with me trying harder or being better or digging deeper,   it was about Him holding tight.  i had to surrender to the full knowledge of His hold.  not that it was easy, i'm a bit of a fighter and kind of an obstinate one at that.  many times through those months i wanted to rip myself from His arms and, like a small child, demand "let me do it!" i wanted the comfort of control.  and then He would patiently and tenderly whisper in my ear, "let go child, let go. I've got you." 

this morning in church our pastor posed a question.  what would happen if you prayed on this new year's day and asked God to do something so great in you and through you that it could only be attributed to God - that only He could be glorified?  just the thought of those words started my heart racing. seriously, i began to sweat in my seat.  because there's a part of me that knows when we pray that prayer it opens up all kinds of possibilities. it throws open the window to some pretty wild what ifs.   do we really mean it?  don't we want to pray that, but also include an addendum of our own suggestions.  like, "dear God, please do something so great in me and through me, but keep my kids safe and keep my health intact and keep my bank account full and keep my marriage thriving."  i don't know about you, but that is how i am tempted to pray -- to pray with conditions.

but then God gave me cancer.  there, i said it.  i know some of you don't believe that.  how can God, who is perfect and loving and good, give something like cancer? oh, i know how crazy that sounds.  but here's the deal:  my hope can only be in a God who has it ALL in control.  not just some of it.  not just the nice things, the sweet things, the pretty things...but ALL of it.  would i want to serve anyone less?  could i serve anything less?  think about it.


and so, today,  january first, i look ahead into another new year.  i know from experience, there could be some pretty hard times around this winter corner.  i know from 2011 this next year gives no guarantee of grief-free living.  but my true hope, my real hope,  is not in the happy highlights of these next 12 months.  my only hope is in the one who holds this year--all of it.  the good and the bad.


and though i don't know what the future holds, i do know who holds the future.

"may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope."  ~ romans 15:13

note:  2011 also brought a bit of surprise for mike and meritt sims (mentioned at the top of this post) today they left for china.  the sims are on their way to their new daughters maggie and mary henley.   they are adopting these two girls (exactly bella's age!) from two different provinces.  mike and meritt have a college senior, a high school senior and an 8th grader.  follow them at the THE SEVEN SIMS. amazing http://msims7.blogspot.com/

something new

"the steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;  great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning."  ~ lamentations 3:22-23

new mercies. is there ever a day i don't need them? ever a morning i wake not desperate for a little new and a little mercy?  fresh starts.  new beginnings.  do overs. oh how thankful i am that God, in His wisdom, created them all.   i am not sure what kind of mess i'd be if i didn't have the option to begin anew. afresh.  i simply can't imagine if as mother and wife and daughter and sister and friend i just stayed on a straight, never-changing, never ending course.  i'd be burnt out, bored and, without doubt, pretty darn tired.


of course we all feel that way on certain days. come 10 o'clock and the kids still awake we ask ourselves and maybe our spouses... will this day never end?   with these past two weeks of holiday making, my children have all had ridiculously late bedtimes.  the days sometimes a little too long.  even the very smallest girl has been seen romping around at unseemly hours. we're all off schedule.   and i've noticed things about these late nights:  like, when the movie ends at 11pm or the family is up in the kitchen fixing a snack at 10:30,  i've noticed that sometimes the patience runs thin and the irritability runs high.  we are all tired and tiresome. and i'm probably the worst one of them all.  that's what it is.  i want to tell my family to go get in bed, climb into their covers, because tomorrow will come.  and we need it. we need our tomorrows.  and just like little orphan annie sang her heart out, "the sun will come out tomorrow, you can bet your bottom dollar, that tomorrow there'll be sun..."  she was right.  she had hope. there is something about tomorrow.  there is something about a new day.  a fresh start. a blank page.  there is something wonderful about the mercy of mornings.


our bleakest thoughts and our sharpest fears fill the night. "though weeping endures for a night, joy comes in the morning."(psalm 30:5).  when i cried myself to sleep as a teenage girl with a broken heart, i thought i understood this verse well.  but with a little more life under my belt:  disappointments, failed attempts, further heartbreak, anxious times, disobedient children, rejection, a frightening diagnosis...this verse means something different. something more.  have you ever wept through a night? i have. as blessed as we are, each one of us has probably had something or someone who has caused all night weeping.  it isn't pretty, is it?  david understood that, "i am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; i drench my couch with my weeping." (psalm 6:6). even david, a man after God's own heart, spent some good nights crying his eyes out.  he understood what it meant to wait for morning, to wait for something new.  and even if everything isn't all better come sunrise, joy has a much better shot.  it is the craziest thing -- the thoughts which can torment and torture throughout the dark hours of evening, calm and quiet with the first move toward morning. it is a new day and new mercies do come.  it is called hope.  and it just seems easier to find earlier in the day.


hope springs up from something new.  it springs up from change.  we are reminded that life is not static and straight.  God created seasons and cycles.  He created day and night.  He created all of this even before He created man and woman, because He knew we'd need a break. immediately. He knew we'd have little children who must have bedtimes and He knew the mother and the father, well, they'd need sleep and fresh starts and plenty of do-overs too.  He knew we'd need summer to warm our winters and winters to replenish the heavy heat of summer.  He knew we'd need time:  hours, days, months and those crazy new years.  before He even stirred adam from the dust of the earth, God stirred the idea of new hope. He wove it into His very command of creation.  because He knew.

i suppose a new year does the same thing for us.  what didn't work out in 2011 is now a bygone.  water under the bridge.  behind us. yesterday's news.  but 2012 is coming and it is clean -- we haven't trampled over the 365 days of it yet.  we haven't sullied it with our messes or mistakes.  it is brand spanking new.  dazzling and dangling before us, like the big ball in the city sky.  and with the stroke of midnight, when that ball dramatically drops, our entire country rejoices.  we celebrate wildly together, kissing spouses and children and sometimes even strangers, all because deep inside each one of us knows, we need something new.  new year's eve has taken a pretty sharp turn from anything spiritual, but stop and think.  it is absolutely that.  when we find redemption we find renewal. we start fresh. start over.  and isn't that exactly what being the children of God is all about.  the old adam gone.  the old woman changed. a new creation. beautiful. "therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!"  (2 corinthians 5:17).  and that is hope.  the only hope.


i think the prodigal son is a new year's eve boy.  after his wild and reckless living,  after his raucous and rebellious behavior,  after his turning his back on his father and family, he comes home.  he comes home limping and dirty and smelling of pig.  he comes home tired and tortured and wrong.  oh boy, was he was wrong -- big time.  he had gone and gambled with his very inheritance.  he toyed with the treasure entrusted to him and it ended in complete and total disaster.  he ended broken and bruised and sharing quarters with swine.  but when he realized the error of his ways and turned his heart toward home, toward his father, new mercies were waiting for him on the threshold.  his father didn't just open his arms, but ran to meet his wayward son walking the dusty lane.  his father killed the fatted calf and his father threw the biggest ball (i imagine better than any new year's eve celebration ever).  his lost son was found.  his rebellious son was restored. the ball didn't have to drop and the year didn't have to change, but it was time to start anew.  the son had been found.  new mercy had been found.  new life had been found.  it was time to party.

and that's exactly the picture of our Father's love for us as we head into 2012.  new mercy.  in the middle of black night or in the midst of bright morning, our Father is ready to clothe us in His new robes of righteousness.  He is ready to restore us.  ready to wipe clean our slate and make clean our countenance.  He is ready with open arms and an open door and a fatted calf.  there is no pig pen too dirty, no rebel too rebellious, no sin too ugly.  new year or not, there is always new mercy found on the threshold of our Father.


i wish you friends, in this new year... new mercies,  new hope and new life.

something new

there has never been a first day of school that i haven't been excited about.  i mean it.  i am kind of nerdy that way.  i can remember the jitters and butterflies and eagerness of my elementary years like it was yesterday - lunch boxes, sharpened pencils, a clean book bag and maybe even a new hairstyle.  i remember high school - the amount of time it took selecting exactly what i would wear on the occasion of this all important day...the ridiculous amounts of time applying eyeliner and lipgloss.  lying in bed on the last night of summer, my head too full of thoughts and hopes, my stomach too full of nerves.  even as a small child i understood fresh starts and fell in love with the idea of new beginnings.


as a high school teacher, it was much the same.  how amazed i was to find that even the teacher got a good case of the butterflies.  even the teacher would lie in bed the night before restless with excitement.   i tried to pretend i was cool.  but i never was.  i couldn't wait to see the 120 different students who would saunter into my classroom.  period after period they came.  some strangely suave and sophisticated, but most awkward and gangly and unsure.  and i loved them all - at least for a while... at least on the first day of school.  i wanted to take each student by the shoulders, look them hard in the eyes and conjure up for them the wild adventure of this new school year.  of course i would have been fired by 5th period if i had actually carried out this plan.  so i refrained from any shoulder grabbing and did my best to grab their attention (safely) from the front of the room, reading or handing out quotes...

"twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you you didn't do than by the ones you did do.  so throw off the bowlines.  sail away from the harbor.  catch the trade winds in your sails.  
explore. dream. discover." ~ mark twain

we were off on an adventure together.  we were beginning anew.  what came before was gone.  it didn't matter what the report card said back in june, we were starting fresh in august.  clean blackboard. clean kids. clean slate.


motherhood has brought just as much enthusiasm for the first day of school.   one by one, i have watched my children traipse off into the world of academics.  four of the five are now fully engaged in education.  over the years i have shared their excitement on the eve of a first day -  shared the fears and flutters too.  of course motherhood has also brought some of the back to school bittersweet -  it always does.  first day of kindergarten.  first day of high school.  that kind of thing.  always wondering how can it be? how did this happen?  year after year i have watched them leave their summers behind.  i have watched them trade bare feet for tennis shoes and bathing suits for uniforms.  i photograph their faces in attempt to capture them ...memorize them...pause them.


this year, i rolled into town at midnight.  my children already soundly sleeping.  i missed the last minute preparations for school's first day - leaving all of that to the capable hands of my husband.  bella and i had traveled to ohio for my mother's 70th birthday.  but even at that midnight hour, i climbed into bed and lay their with building excitement for the next day. my children would begin something new.  our family had never before had this combination of 10th grader-8th grader-6th grader-3rd grader-and one still at home.  this was a new year.  a new beginning for us, for our family.   and as i pondered the wonder of it all...(yes, pondered), i was struck with how this new school year brought even more cause for celebration.


we had ended last year at such a different place.  a hard place.  their final week of school was marked with my surgery.  that week was a blur for all of us.  by the time the year actually ended, we were all numb and worn out and just plain thankful it was over.  our family barely crawled to the finish line.  lockers and desks were emptied and backpacks came home and heaved into closets.  everything put away.  everything shrugged off.  the children had a mother in pain and a lot of questions and fears and we were desperate for summer,  hungry for healing.  we all wanted to move on and away from our madness of may.


but we did.  we moved on.  though we seemed to limp out of the last month, june and july brought good news and strength and hope and health.  and this august we begin strong.  again.  we begin ready for adventure.  arms open to the wild ride of right now.  i walked my children into their classrooms this morning,  pushing bella in a stroller and snapping pictures.  and at goodbye i wrapped my healing body around each one of them whispering words of encouragement.  it was normal.  we felt new.  and we were starting over.  Lord, will you allow us to live in the present?  will you help us not forget the blessing of beginnings? will you keep us thankful for fresh?  humble? close to your heart?  everything new.  how easy it could be to just go through the motions, but i want to remember.  i want to take my five children by their shoulders and conjure up the wild adventure of the right now, of this very moment.


so summer is over.  it will not be a season quickly forgotten.  all of us are a little changed.  a little taller.  a little wiser.  a little rested.  a little sun burnt.  a little excited. a little altered. 


and all of us, a little ready...for something new.

"for I am about to do something new.  see, I have already begun! 

 do you not see it?

I will make a pathway through the wilderness. 

 I will create rivers in the dry wasteland."  ~ isaiah 43:19

all things new

out with the old... and in with the new.  really? is that truly what we seek come december 31st?  why is it that on new year's eve we are so drawn to the words old and new. endings and beginnings.  not just drawn to them, but mesmerized by the sound of them. no matter how practical our nature, we find ourselves cast under the spell of their newsprint promise.  we spend our final days of the year chewing up these words as if they were verbal cud. turning them over in our mouths and minds and eagerly spitting them out at each other in agreement.  it seems the older i get, the more this holds true. perhaps i am just closer to old and the desire for new grows more and more desperate - a theory which we can debate another time.  in a generation which can barely stand still long enough to ponder anything, we, in a mass collaborative effort, rebel for just one reflective moment at the stroke of midnight.  


as if this midnight has something to do with it.  as if this midnight holds the power to change a lavish stagecoach back into a pumpkin and return a princess to her peasant girl status. as if there is a fairy godmother holding the great treasured clock of all time in her fantastical hands.  as if she is listening intently to our reflections and regrets and resolutions. as if this grandmotherly fairy and her sage, accomplice, father time, plot secretly together for our good.  this stroke of midnight is nothing if not a stroke of genius.  if we could shake the wishes from our heads and the cliches from our writing, we would know deeply the power of this moment is a mere fairytale. but then again, perhaps we are all, on occasion, in need of a little fairytale. we have, afterall, created an entire holiday explicitly for this purpose.  we make much of it. we have teams of people designing cocktail napkins and matching party hats.  noisemakers are tested in quiet rooms and champagne is bottled and labled with the celebratory year.  cheese dip and  sparklers, and even sparkly clothing combine together for this one enchanted evening. 


i know this desire quite well. i am a girl with an extraordinary embrace for fairytales.  i, too, can fall  effortlessly into the hypnotic lull of a good story. i have, on more than one occasion, wept simply because the final chapter in a captivating novel, has come to a close.   friends and family, alike, have dubbed me as a girl wearing rose-colored glasses...a girl who views things with bright eyes.  i am certain i've crossed paths with a critic or two wishing to dunk my ponytailed head in a good dose of reality.  but i also wish that with a quick scribble on a list, i might change old habits, create healthy ones and thus improve the line of my horizon.  i would like to believe that with some exceptional resolve, a resolute spirit and a large glass of champagne i will begin afresh.  anew.  aright.   oh, friends, that sounds not only delightful,  it sounds downright necessary.  don't we all deserve this chance regardless of our past year, our past mistakes, our past failures. our past... in general.


funny that most of us spend our days fighting with this elusive friend, this thing called time.  there's either never enough or perhaps, for some of us, too much.  regardless, most of us tend to contentiously argue our way through it.  and yet, it is the thing in which we are quite willing to place great trust come the year's end.  do we seriously believe that a date on a calendar is worthy of our fear and trembling? the truth is, we are desperately in need of the new.  we all, each one of us, are created to shed the old.  it is how we are made.  it is a beautiful thing.  a necessary thing.  it is a need woven so deeply within us, we cannot ignore it for very long.  it will resurface, if only every new year's eve.  it will.  no one can escape this need to peel off the layers of our onion-skinned selves.  


but, undoubtedly, we look to the wrong things.  we look to the fairytale and all the actors and devices she employs.  we look to these things and find as believable as they seem when the curtain is up and the lights are on, they fade away by the show's final call.  they present themselves in glitter and glory and keep us distracted from our very need. they keep us searching on the glossy surface.  keep us rummaging through the glitter...and missing the truth.  our glitter-ful hands will, ultimately, be left clutching only dust.  our distractions will drown us in the weight of their shimmer.
this new year's eve, enjoy the glitter.  enjoy the sparkle and the sparklers.  flirt with father time and befriend your fairy godmother.  but know that these things will pass.  their wisdom and their glory and their glitter will crumble.  the champagne bubbles will flatten, the sequins will loosen, and the noisemakers will (hopefully) quiet. know this.

know also, it is the simple, quiet Jesus who comes wearing nothing sparkly, who comes with no fireworks to announce His presence, who comes to bring the new.   He needs no oversized disco ball or gigantic peach to drop when He declares His do-overs. He chants no clever bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, but, He has promised, "I make all things new."  His dusty, rough carpenter's hands do not wield a fairy wand, but they do hold the answer to our new beginnings...our fresh start. He came as a newborn babe and was laid in a most un-glitzy manger.  there was no glitter or gold to be found anywhere in that lowly stable.  the sheep most certainly did not shimmer and no one danced in the streets of bethlehem.  the only ball that dropped was joseph's failure to call ahead for a room.  and yet, this simple babe, held in His hand the very power to send out the old and bring in the new. though often inconceivable and unbelievably miraculous, i assure you, it is not a fairytale.

      "therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation;

 the old has gone and the new has come."  ~ 2 corinthians 5:17.