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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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Tipping Point

It’s the middle of May in northern Ontario. We’re battling wind and waves before our canoe betrays us entirely.

The water is so cold, it burns.

And it’s a race against the clock to get out of the lake and get warm. “Help us, Lord,” I say.

Tipping moments.

Is that what it takes to launch us over the edge of indifference and passivity?

A brutal awakening of the senses?

Later, on a Saturday, we sit across from him as he picks away at his sesame seed cake. I gulp down my freshly-pressed coffee like it’s going to save my life.

And he mentions how he’s waiting. He’s waiting for eternity to be imminent before dealing with decisions of the soul.

And when I’m drying off from the frigid lake and shivering uncontrollably under five layers of blankets, I realize I do the same thing.

I wait. I wait for the devouring eyes of eternity. I wait for the moment it’s about to pounce on me before I realize that I want a greater treasure-store in heaven.

My soul is secure. But where is my treasure?

I’ve invested all my savings plans in the pleasures of the flesh, in the snooze button, in the sufficient bank account, in the approving eyes of my co-workers.

Until I reach the tipping point.

In the middle of a lake. Immersed in frigid waters. There is nothing left except.

“Help us, Lord.”

But I don’t want God to be my last breath. Or my dying wish.

I want Him to be my morning song. And my First Thought.

And tipping points can put you right-side-up again. If you don’t throw it in the category of coincidence.

“Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love, for in you I trust. Make me know the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul.” Psalm 143:8

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