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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....

Dry

I kick the rock again and again, loosening the earth’s grip from around its jagged edges. The ground is crusty and the moisture is buried deep beneath the sprouted corn. It doesn’t take long for the earth to dry. It’s just like she said; her soul is parched. I’m bending over day after mind-dulling day, picking up stones out of the field. There’s no joy in a thirsty soul.
          
Why do we live waiting for God to send the downpours when the gentle sprinkling is best? We walk with Jesus silently and we never talk and suddenly we’re wondering if he is with us at all. The talking isn’t reserved for quiet mornings. The talking is moment by moment, stone by stone, nail by nail. I get dirt in my rubber boot and I slowly count out words for the promise I found in Psalms. Like I’m saying it back to Him. Contentment seeps in and quenches my quiet sighs. 

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