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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....

Tip of my tongue.


“I’m getting soo old,” I lean against the kitchen counter on a Monday and complain to her.

It’s often Mondays that make me angry at the way Time steals joyful moments, steals the quiet solitude of the weekend away.

It was just months ago I remember that cool granite countertop against my wet cheeks. My shoulders shaking uncontrollably. And her knuckles rubbing back and forth across my back.

And then that was yesterday.

And then it’s six months later and I wake up and--. Remember that consuming ache?

I live a day and I don’t think about it at all.

It comes back again, but the sharpness is worn away.

She told me it would be like this. I thought she was just saying words.

But Time sews up the seams of the heart. And every passing month puts miles of distance between me and my aching soul.

And then it’s a word on the tip of my tongue. 

And I wake up on a Monday, thankful that the Watchmaker sets the watch to move forward.

That getting old is just His gracious push toward the end of the end of joyful moments.

That He numbers the days of sorrow.

And sorrow and delight turn grey and die away with the seasons.

“Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.” Psalm 30:5



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