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How to have a truly happy new year.

For the first time in years, I don’t remember my New Year’s resolution from January. Usually, I write it down in my journal or on a note I stick to my mirror. There’s been many of those dog-eared sticky notes from years past. The year of contentment. Speaking life. We passed pancakes across the breakfast table on January 1st this year. “What do you want from 2018?” I can’t remember my answer. I know what I didn’t want though. I didn’t want to walk into her office and share the parts of my life I’m inclined to hide. I didn’t want to Facetime her the day after she delivered her baby that never breathed. I didn’t want to spend four months wondering how I’d walk into her house on Christmas day and see her empty chair. I didn’t want to go on another first date that led nowhere. We sit across from each other in a little coffee shop in Colorado, picking at a charcuterie board. “When I think about all of the things I have left to go through,” her voice cracks....

Jesus, not me.

How thankful I am that I am not Jesus. 
If I was, I would have given up the cross a long time ago, the splinters too painful. I would have taken the throne and the riches, clothed myself in the purple robe. I would have encouraged the fame raised by my miracles. The sinners? I wouldn't have touched them, but left them in their sin. The outcasts would be fine by themselves. The orphans, widows and poor--I'm not all bad; I would have set up programs for them, given them a bit of money. But, no...I wouldn't waste my time searching for the child slave. I wouldn't ruin my reputation and speak to the prostitute. And I would never, not ever, die for a crowd of sinful people shaking their fist at me and yelling out lies of my good character. And who would blame me for that? Who would blame me?

Jesus didn't see it like that. Rejoice in His infinite goodness today, dear friends!

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