The New Year's Hopes and My #OneWord365

In the past, I have considered January one of my least favorite months---the end of festive celebrations, return to routines that aren't always enjoyable, and, basically, just winter. Cold, dry, dark, empty winter.

I have often tried to fill that January void with the hopes of a new year---a clean slate, a fresh start to long-held dreams, the lure of goals I am working towards. I have often sat at lengthy times with my journal, pouring my heart out onto the pages, not only for what I long for, but for who I want to become, and what I want to let go of.

At the turn of this new year, my thoughts were overwhelming, too many to even organize onto a journal page---who I want to be, the baggage I want to drop, the people I yearn to help, the areas I want to make a difference, the dreams I strive for, goals I long to reach, the pleas with God that are so strong they burn in my heart and keep me awake some nights.

From Holiday Blues To A New Year Of Hope

As a child, I was glad that a New Year's celebration came only one week after Christmas Eve, mainly because I always got those "post-holiday blues" when Christmas was over. I anticipated that special day of December 25 months before its arrival. I participated in all the usual festive activities---mailing letters to Santa, helping bake Christmas cookies, listening to my Grandma read me Christmas stories, being either Mary or an angel in the Christmas play (because what other part could a girl be, unless the director thought the play was desperate for another wise man or shepherd?).

But I had an active imagination and could play independently for hours, so my enjoyment of the holidays went beyond the usual. I dug my mom's old Christmas records out of the closet---three I especially remember: one by Perry Como, one by the Oak Ridge Boys, and one of instrumental music called "Holiday Strings"---and began listening to them long before the holiday season was near. I would line my Barbie Dolls up on my pink bedroom carpet and stand each one up to take her turn singing when the song on the record changed. I would read Christmas stories, then choose my favorite character and reenact the story quietly in my room. Lying on my bed with a notebook and pen, I would pretend I was a playwright before I ever knew the word "playwright," and would write out scripts for Christmas plays, including specific cues beside each character's name. I felt fascinated by silent Christmas Eve nights that transformed into joyous Christmas mornings with gifts under the tree, an emptied milk glass, and only cookie crumbs left on a plate. And my young heart was lured by the mystery of a divine baby in a manger who was somehow God's son, whose birth was so significant that angels burst into the sleepy shepherds' night and a sudden star caused wise men to embark on a lengthy journey.

The White Easter

My heart and mind weren't prepared for Holy Week. The colorful Easter baskets and decorations I annually set out each year were still buried in their bin in the closet. My mind had been preoccupied instead of thoughtfully focused on the season.

Holy Week had been cold, literally, with chilly March temperatures biting the air. I sat at work one day during that week and glanced out the full glass windows revealing the world outside. I felt physically sick, discouraged and tired. Snowflakes had been falling intermittently all day. Not favorable of cold air or slick, white roadways, I'd mostly disregarded the falling flakes and ignored people's disbelieving complaints of "Snow!? In spring!?" After all, it was only the end of March. When did anything in life follow a set schedule on a calendar?

Alive Today

Spreading branches at his feet,
a makeshift carpet for a king,
voices shouting, "Blessed is He!
Blessed is He."

Yet soon the voices changed,
as they railed against his name.
No longer their words hailed
Him King of Kings.

Broken and betrayed,
His final hours racked with pain,
placed in someone else's grave,
and sealed away.

Entombed, the Savior slept,
while His friends in darkness wept,
grasping, struggling to accept
death's final say.

One Word 2013

I wanted to choose one word for last year
 
(http://oneword365.com),

but no particular word ever
'jumped' out at me.

Plus, I had that self-defeating attitude
I sometimes get---
I'm just one of hundreds. 
Who would care about 
my little word anyway?
  
But this year,
I am participating,

mainly because for the past few weeks,
a particular word continually returns to me:

Keeping Christmas

The days after Christmas used to be the most depressing days imaginable to my young mind. I was very enthusiastic as a child, easily excited, and spent weeks---no, months---anticipating that magical day of December 25.

It was the day we celebrated the mysterious birth of a baby in a manger,

the morning following Santa's fascinating slide down our brick chimney (where he emerged out of our wood stove, I was convinced) to leave an array of surprises under our Christmas tree,

the day we drove the curvy countryside road to my grandparents' house, where dozens of laughing family members crammed into their little white home, feasted on more food than we could finish, then gathered around their tree where I always opened a package containing some sort of beautiful doll. Then my brother, cousins, and I played happily with those new toys while laughter and Christmas music filled the background.

Emmanuel, Light Of The Darkness

I have re-read the story a couple of times this year, searching for something new, some overlooked detail that hadn't captured my attention before. 

A couple of years ago, my eyes landed on the verse: 
  
"the star they had seen when it rose went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the young child lay." 
  
I had always pictured a massive bright star, stationed precisely over the stable, a gleaming arrow pointing to the baby below. But the star was moving? Carefully guiding the wise men each step of their journey? As they stepped closer towards it, the star then beckoned them a little farther? The destination was not revealed to them in a detailed map at the beginning of their journey?

Gold And Diamonds: Sick Of The 'Stuff' of Christmas

"You're gonna love the gift he's picked out for you," a couple of female acquaintances whispered to me. My boyfriend had confided in them the surprise he had planned for me that Christmas many years ago.

A part of me felt anxious at the awareness an unexpected gift was coming, because the relationship just hadn't been working. Another part of me felt desperate anticipation. Maybe the gift was a sign of hope, a signal that things were about to turn around?

On Christmas Eve, I unwrapped the small package---a beautiful dainty bracelet of gold and diamonds. With the smallest size being too large for my wrist, links had been taken out and made into earrings. So not only did I have my very first gold diamond bracelet, but gold and diamond earrings to match. It was lovely, and I appreciated it.
 

Hope Is Alive

I often feel "it"
when we approach occasions
that commemorate
Jesus' birth or resurrection---
an underlying excitement
I sometimes can't explain.

Is it all the festivities?
Spending time with
people I care about?
The enjoyable traditions
or nostalgic memories?
The joyful worship services
and celebrations?

I think it is all of them.
Plus something else.

I feel Hope.

I remember how Hope entered a world of chaos and desperation.
How hope changed history and human hearts.

I remember how Hope could not stay away from us, entered our world as a crying infant,
faced the challenges that we face---hurt feelings, hard days, cruel rejection.

Then, after being tortured and killed at human hands---still---Hope did not desert us,
did not leave us with simply a body-filled tomb where we could mourn
and question what went wrong.
 
Hope hints to us that someday, somehow,
all sickness and heartache will be healed, what hurts now will hurt no longer,
all that is wrong in this world will be made right in His.
He who was too powerful to let his story end in a grave will,
surely,
not let our story end in hopelessness.
 
Hope entered a world that battered and crushed him,
but Hope was resurrected---
Hope is alive.

That's why I am excited.

He Spoke Her Name

She would not flee
his deserted grave,
where she wept
in the garden alone that day.
In deepest anguish,
she bore her pain,
not expecting to see his face.

He spoke; she failed
to recognize
who stood before
her tear-filled eyes.
"Where is he?!"
in despair she cried,
and then he spoke her name.

He spoke her name;
at once, she heard
such tenderness in that sweet word.
Her heart, in recognition, stirred.
She ran to him in haste.

Speak my name, I long to hear
that voice familiar in my ear,
the tone, inflections, so sincere,
his offer of generous grace.

Like her, I want my heart to be
yearning for him to speak to me,
hear my name and, like Mary, see
my Savior face to face.

(Based on John 20:10-18)

Lavished

"It's been a stressful two weeks. Not sure I feel like celebrating. I had originally planned to, then other things happened, and I got distracted," I answered my roommate when she asked how I wanted to spend my birthday.

But my roommate believes in celebrating, especially birthdays. So she called one of my friends, who contacted more friends, and they began making plans.

Start Again

Release the old, release the pain,

Release the hurts of yesterday.

Keep the peace and lessons learned,

the joy that springs when hope returns.

Rest old heartaches in Him to find

He makes all things beautiful in His time.

His heart has this plan for the heart of you:

make peace with the old, take hope in the new.

A new day is born as another day ends,

creation is coaxing…’now start again.’

Accept this gift the Father gives,

a chance to start fresh, a new chance to live.

The Three "U's" I Gave Up

My greatest progress in 2011,
the most freedom
I have found in years:

I gradually began to give up
worrying that other people
thought of me as

ugly,
untalented,
unwanted.

I began believing that
negative opinions of me
don't equal absolute truth.

I started realizing that I can choose to reject how others say I should look, act, or live.

I eventually understood that the One who loves me most would never describe me using those three "u" words.

I decided whose opinion I should strive to listen to.

A Not So Bad Goodbye

Goodbyes often stir up such negative images.

But as the days inch closer to December 31, I look forward to that annual farewell with eagerness, anxious to let go of the year's unwelcome hardships and welcome the hope of fresh, untainted possibilities.

It's a goodbye that doesn't seem so bad.

Time brings so much into life that is beyond our control. But the close of a year often motivates me to search for what I do have a choice in bidding goodbye---emotional baggage, hurtful memories, poor choices, harmful habits. Sometimes, when I take even the tiniest, initial step towards dropping such a deterrent, I find a measure of peace. Just knowing I have begun gives me a bit of encouragement.

At some point in 2011, I gradually began caring less about other people's opinions of me. Slowly, I became aware that I was pushing myself a little further towards my dreams, but with a diminished need for other people to approve. Until I began that (still ongoing) process and experiencing a little more freedom and confidence, I didn't realize how often I let other people's opinions determine my decisions.

How many times do we hurt in life because of fears or beliefs we need to cast off?

Maybe we should ask ourselves more than once a year what we need to let go of.

What is interfering with your life that you want to start letting go in 2012?

The Wait Before Bethlehem

A star burned too brightly
for Wise Men to ignore.
Singing angels swept into
sleepy shepherds' night shift.
Mary broke into labor,
frantic for a place--
any place--
to give birth.

The course of history altered.
Lives abruptly transformed.
Earth touched by a miracle
in the blink of an eye.

Sometimes the events
of that Bethlehem night
sound sudden and dramatic--
the strange star,
an ill-timed delivery,
unsuspecting shepherds.

What Is Your Frankincense?

What is your frankincense, gold, or myrrh?
What can you offer a king?
What precious jewel compares to his worth,
what priceless offering?

What could you lay at such holy feet?
How do you measure the price?
What gift reciprocates all that he gives,
what equal sacrifice?

What could you place at his manger bed?
cross, or vacant grave?
What could redeem the anguish he bore,
the sins and mistakes he forgave?

What is your frankincense, gold, or myrrh?
What can you offer a king?
Nothing your hands could buy nor sell.
Only your life can you bring.

Following

"And the star they had seen in the east went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they were overjoyed." -Matthew 2:9-10

Lightly underlined in pencil. I looked up for a moment and squinted my eyes, trying to recall why, at some point, I had underlined that particular verse.

"And the star they had seen in the east went ahead of them.."

The star went ahead of them. I had never noticed that before. My mind still held the Sunday School image of a dazzling star centered directly over the A-frame of a stable---a flashing arrow or an X marking the spot.

My Thanksgiving Prayer

Dear God,

For at least one day each year,
we recite our blessings.
We recall the abundance
you pour into our lives;
we dedicate our thankfulness to you.

If I thanked you for each gift
as it appeared,
my dialogue with you
would have no end.