The bottom of the year is such a funny juxtaposition to January's fresh slate. December is when we eat too much, spend too much and force vast amounts of symbolism and cheer down our gullets. In January we are more prudent and wise, eating more things with the color green, vowing anew to watch our budgets and replacing nostalgia with modernism in the form of gym memberships and new workout music. It's the cliché we all endure but struggle to resist.
Nevertheless, I do love a good set of resolutions to welcome in the new year.
For me, I want to live a life observed.
To me it looks like this:
I want to chew on new words I learn from new books I read.
Which means I should read more books. Probably more than one.
And probably not children's books; opting instead for the kind with multi-syllabic words.
I want to focus on artistic endeavors.
Hone subject matters. Sharpen my illustrating skills.
I want to begin writing a slender book which I have in mind for my daughters. A book about love and life and communication and dreams. And how to listen to instinct. Just for them.
I want my endeavors to be in balance with flexibility and grace and sacrifice.
I don't know any well-minded person who doesn't want this.
I want all the bad theology in my mind to be scrubbed.
I want to be brave. To know God in new ways. To ask questions. To improve in prayer. To start each day sitting in grace and end each day laying in it.
And I don't know a soul who wouldn't mind releasing the heartbreaks of yesteryear so they could enjoy the blessings of today and the twinkly dreams of tomorrow.
These goals will require a little reworking on my part.
Each morning I tiptoe past the bedrooms of two sleeping children for a few minutes of breathing and thinking and praying before the day begins. Within minutes a very loud five year old demands oatmeal and a very barky puppy also enters the chorus. Mentally this is a very important juncture: I will either yield to the chaos of the morning and stay in my jammies for far too long or I will steel myself to my goals and turn on the treadmill or start the laundry. Truthfully, I do the former more than I like. Jammies have a way of not starting the day.
To start the new year, the one thing I really wanted was a book. And that book, I am convinced, is going to change my heart forever. The book is called "Surprised by Hope" and is written by N.T. Wright. I borrowed it from the library but found that I wanted to underline things and write things in the margins (which I RARELY do to books) because I loved it so much.
And the reason I need this book is because of an ugly truth: I have a (metaphorical) hole in my heart. It comes from too much repetition. From folding too many clothes and unloading the dishwasher several times each day. From being tired. From doing important tasks with too much efficiency and speed and roboticism, resulting in a disease I call "What's-the-Use-itis." A good shot of Wright's book should do the trick.
So this year I am starting January differently:
I'm choosing the words that will go in my mind and find their way into my actions.
I can DO a lot of things this year. I can create a heap of goals. But unless I have my head and heart in the right place, none of those things matter.
May your new year be similarly blessed. May you live less like "the mass of men who live in quiet desperation" and more like "the charming few who live with truth and inspiration."
Now off you go. Auld lang syne and all of that.