Words
When I chose the word new for 2017, it was a near-desperate grasp at something that might somehow make things different. There was no plan or goal for how that would show up, other than I thought that maybe I'd try some new things here and there.
And I did so many new things. Some were intentional, like going to a kind of bucket system for managing our money, that has made all the difference in the world.
Some were super spontaneous, like placing money into the outstretched hand of a panhandler, facing deep-rooted fears and smacking the devil in the face.
Then of course the happy accidents, like feathers I've stashed in frequented spots, collected over the course of months when I learned more about the Lord and myself than I ever have. And really, there are no accidents.
There is much, much that has changed.
The house is different. For my birthday, my mom painted the kitchen a beautiful, cozy teal. Which I guess inspired her to go the distance and replace the old beyond-nasty rug beneath the table as a Christmas gift.
Which inspired me to find a clearance chandelier to replace the inverted boob one-bulb light hanging above the table that had long since run its course.
And how's this for something new? I installed the new light all by myself. Me! When I flipped the power back on and those three orbs began to glow, I literally squealed with pride and happy danced around a kitchen whose before and after pics look like restoration.
Now the kitchen, where I spend more time than everywhere else combined, gives me heart eyes and makes me feel like washing the dishes isn't so bad after all.
But there's new, and then there's new. By summer, the last two years were closing in around me again, joy stolen and heart heavy, lung-crushing anxiety and mounting blood pressure, wordless constant prayer because what do you say to a God who sees you, truly El Roi sees you, like this?
I decided to give myself a birthday gift. My sweet Christ-following doctor listened to my sobbing word-vomit panic for an hour over fear and family and hurt and my blood pressure is near stroke level and I just can't be enough and this is failure.
He smiled, put his hand on my shoulder, quoted me John 16:33, and told me God doesn't make failures. I was introduced to a low dose of Lexapro, just enough to even me out, and told to come back in six weeks.
I sobbed again, pulling in the driveway, apologizing to God for not being able to carry what He gave me. For allowing blessings to become burdens and apparently not having the strength to cast my anxiety upon Him.
But guilt did not greet me. And I realized that maybe that visit to the doctor, who seems to also be quite skilled at therapy, was the act of casting my anxiety on the Lord. And that maybe God's power to help me put Satan behind me takes the form of something small and round and white that does nothing to change who I am or whose I am. In fact, it just may help me to remember those things a little better.
When the doctor came in the room six weeks later and asked me how it was going, the only way I could describe it was, I feel brand new. The preceding six weeks had handed me life I didn't know was possible.
I could breathe. And sleep. My blood pressure was normal. I had decided I was worth taking care of and dropped fifteen pounds quick by eating right, walking, and strength training faithfully. I felt like singing and dancing and having conversations and even dropping a sarcastic joke here and there.
The boys smiled more. Brandon smiled more. It was a chest-swelling, it might actually be OK sort of revelation that made me want to kick myself twelve ways to Sunday for not taking sadness so seriously before now.
Brand new. It happened. And not even remotely how I expected it to. There are still challenges. Still tears. Still worries. Still failures. Still hurts. Still days where I have to make a slow walk to the mailbox in the dark.
But I'm bolder. Different no longer scares me. Newness has inspired me to try and rebuild some of the brokenness instead of standing there staring at it, regretting and remembering what was lost. Newness has led me down a different path toward the Lord, and maybe I see things now just a little more like He does.
As though my hope has been restored.
Indeed, He makes all things new. Last year was a whirlwind of new that came out of left field and left none of us the same.
So who can possibly guess at what this year will bring? If I know anything, it is that I don't want to forget, even for a moment, what the Lord has done. Forbid I should take for granted any person in my life, any possession or comfort, any smile or feeling of freedom.
My word for 2018 is remember, inspired by Jeremiah 3:19-26. Bless poor Jeremiah's heart, y'all, he had it rough. Bummer man, he delivers. And he threw himself many a pity party. Been there. Yet...
I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed,
for His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is Your faithfulness.
I say to myself, "The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for Him."
The Lord is good to those whose hope is in Him,
the one who seeks Him;
it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the Lord.
Remember where I came from, what I've been through, yes. But remember too who carried me, who saw me, who healed me, who knows I'm not enough and wants me anyway.
Practically, I have no idea how this word will play itself out, again no plan or goal to go along with it, other than some Biblical word chasing and lots of gratitude.
But I will remember. And I will praise the Lord with all my heart, for He is great and greatly to be praised.
And I did so many new things. Some were intentional, like going to a kind of bucket system for managing our money, that has made all the difference in the world.
Some were super spontaneous, like placing money into the outstretched hand of a panhandler, facing deep-rooted fears and smacking the devil in the face.
Then of course the happy accidents, like feathers I've stashed in frequented spots, collected over the course of months when I learned more about the Lord and myself than I ever have. And really, there are no accidents.
There is much, much that has changed.
The house is different. For my birthday, my mom painted the kitchen a beautiful, cozy teal. Which I guess inspired her to go the distance and replace the old beyond-nasty rug beneath the table as a Christmas gift.
Which inspired me to find a clearance chandelier to replace the inverted boob one-bulb light hanging above the table that had long since run its course.
And how's this for something new? I installed the new light all by myself. Me! When I flipped the power back on and those three orbs began to glow, I literally squealed with pride and happy danced around a kitchen whose before and after pics look like restoration.
Now the kitchen, where I spend more time than everywhere else combined, gives me heart eyes and makes me feel like washing the dishes isn't so bad after all.
But there's new, and then there's new. By summer, the last two years were closing in around me again, joy stolen and heart heavy, lung-crushing anxiety and mounting blood pressure, wordless constant prayer because what do you say to a God who sees you, truly El Roi sees you, like this?
I decided to give myself a birthday gift. My sweet Christ-following doctor listened to my sobbing word-vomit panic for an hour over fear and family and hurt and my blood pressure is near stroke level and I just can't be enough and this is failure.
He smiled, put his hand on my shoulder, quoted me John 16:33, and told me God doesn't make failures. I was introduced to a low dose of Lexapro, just enough to even me out, and told to come back in six weeks.
I sobbed again, pulling in the driveway, apologizing to God for not being able to carry what He gave me. For allowing blessings to become burdens and apparently not having the strength to cast my anxiety upon Him.
But guilt did not greet me. And I realized that maybe that visit to the doctor, who seems to also be quite skilled at therapy, was the act of casting my anxiety on the Lord. And that maybe God's power to help me put Satan behind me takes the form of something small and round and white that does nothing to change who I am or whose I am. In fact, it just may help me to remember those things a little better.
When the doctor came in the room six weeks later and asked me how it was going, the only way I could describe it was, I feel brand new. The preceding six weeks had handed me life I didn't know was possible.
I could breathe. And sleep. My blood pressure was normal. I had decided I was worth taking care of and dropped fifteen pounds quick by eating right, walking, and strength training faithfully. I felt like singing and dancing and having conversations and even dropping a sarcastic joke here and there.
The boys smiled more. Brandon smiled more. It was a chest-swelling, it might actually be OK sort of revelation that made me want to kick myself twelve ways to Sunday for not taking sadness so seriously before now.
Brand new. It happened. And not even remotely how I expected it to. There are still challenges. Still tears. Still worries. Still failures. Still hurts. Still days where I have to make a slow walk to the mailbox in the dark.
But I'm bolder. Different no longer scares me. Newness has inspired me to try and rebuild some of the brokenness instead of standing there staring at it, regretting and remembering what was lost. Newness has led me down a different path toward the Lord, and maybe I see things now just a little more like He does.
As though my hope has been restored.
Indeed, He makes all things new. Last year was a whirlwind of new that came out of left field and left none of us the same.
So who can possibly guess at what this year will bring? If I know anything, it is that I don't want to forget, even for a moment, what the Lord has done. Forbid I should take for granted any person in my life, any possession or comfort, any smile or feeling of freedom.
My word for 2018 is remember, inspired by Jeremiah 3:19-26. Bless poor Jeremiah's heart, y'all, he had it rough. Bummer man, he delivers. And he threw himself many a pity party. Been there. Yet...
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed,
for His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is Your faithfulness.
I say to myself, "The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for Him."
The Lord is good to those whose hope is in Him,
the one who seeks Him;
it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the Lord.
Practically, I have no idea how this word will play itself out, again no plan or goal to go along with it, other than some Biblical word chasing and lots of gratitude.
But I will remember. And I will praise the Lord with all my heart, for He is great and greatly to be praised.
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