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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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Whether you like it or not...

I lean back in the swivelling chair, trying not to fall too far backwards. I see Paris in all the paintings, photographs and collages in my professor’s office. He’s a man of the world. I remember what it’s like to be back at university and to restart caring about stacking my personal success and experiences into the biggest tower I can build. “Treasure” gets muddled in my mind.

My professor tells me about his discoveries of a mythological goddess and the feminist ideals she represents. I try to let it go over my head.

We discuss the writing class.

“Do you hate anyone, Kate?” he asks.

“No,” I say.

“You must be a saint then. Writing is a way of taking revenge for many writers.”

My worldview is so alien to him. Forgiveness is a rare concept.

Before I leave, he says, “Try not to be too much of a saint in class.” Goodness isn’t much admired.

“I’m not a saint,” I mumble. Not according to his terms. I remember later that I am a saint because I am sanctified in Christ Jesus.

Darkness hates Light and I feel the pull to join the mob on the wide path because I want to please my professors and my classmates.

By Monday afternoon, I’ve made a decision. I pull open the doors of University College and chuckle to myself. I’ve still got a bit of a rebellious spirit. I’m a saint through the blood of Jesus. I’m going to live like one whether anyone likes it or not.




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