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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....
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Awakened to Pride

I always seem to awaken in mid-December before the New Year tiptoes onto my calendar. This hibernation of the soul makes me freeze straight and stiff, back unbending. Unbowed. Suddenly, I’m no longer catching my reflection in the mirror, but I’m seeing my true form: skin and sin and bones.

I finish my last exam of the year and walk into the foyer of the music building. Some of my classmates have that shell-shocked gaze, like they just escaped the trenches and the bullets. I’m just relieved I don’t have to grate more eraser dust on those pages of notes and scores and same-sounding multiple choice questions. I text my brother later: “That was a brutal exam. People were crying throughout it.” I hesitate after I click send and wish I could rewrite some of my life’s scenes, rephrase my dialogue, and insert silence instead. Okay, so I didn’t actually see people crying, but my friends said people were crying…I think. But as much as I’d like, I can’t really imagine Jesus exaggerating his life to make people sympathize with him.

I’m oozing with pride, the worst kind…the kind that I can dress up into making me look plain awesome. Only God is awesome though. Somehow, like Adam, I think I know better than God. When will we be honest with ourselves and realize that we really are nothing without Him?


           

            

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