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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....

Protein Words for the Soul

I sit in the wedding dress store while my friend tries on dresses.

Another girl comes out of the fitting room beside me in a tight mermaid-style.

Her mom quietly says the things she likes about the dress.

The girl grimaces, “I hate it. I hate the top. It has everything that your dress had that I wanted to cut off.”

The mom tries to smooth things over, but the girl is in mission-mode to find the perfect thing for her big day.


My mom turns sixty this week and I can’t remember all of the little things I have said that must have hurt her over the years, the times I’ve rolled my eyes at her words, how that must have cut deeper than I think.


We sit outside on the university campus, the oak leaves swirling into our faces. We talk about all of the classes we have for the purpose of advancing us—our careers, our finances, our “happiness”.

How all of this isn’t fireproof.

The years waste like the dead oak leaves and I don’t want this: to only remember the lethal words I hissed.

If my words are strong enough to shatter, they must be strong enough to shape. I count the loved ones in my life with ‘thanks’ before I fall asleep.

And thank God that Jesus was not as selfish as me.

His blood paints me Redeemed.  





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