Cheers

The end of the year is hard for us historical types. You free-spirited day-to-day types can just write it off as another day and an opportunity to stay up late and drink bubbly beverages. Not me. I have work to do. Journals have to be reviewed, thoughts have to be processed, growth has to be measured. And it all comes at a time when I’m already feeling a little glum from Christmas let-down. Oh to be a day-to-day, bubbly-beverage kind of girl.

It never fails that as I pull the stockings off the mantle and repack the ornaments, my mind wanders to, “What will life look like the next time I pull these out?” (Can you day-to-dayers just mindlessly toss them in a box?) For years my biggest curiosity was whether or not there would be one more stocking joining the others, with a newborn to go with it. My newborn days are over, so this year I’m wondering where our six stockings will hang next year. Will it be in the house we’ve already mentally moved into, the one with the monkey tree in the backyard and the mail that gets delivered through a slot right into the foyer? Will I hang the Christmas decorations in preparation for a huge children’s party I dream of having—for kids who may not know Jesus came just for them—or will they hang for just the six of us to enjoy? Will I have new friends who haven’t known me for ten years? Will I have friends who think and look much different from me? Will I be different? Will I just be overwhelmed with change?

And what if there is no change? What if I’m right here next year, hanging the stockings on the same mantle? How will I respond if God says “no” or “not yet”? “No” is so hard to hear, but I think it’s easier than “not yet,” at least for me. “Not yet” requires patience and contentment and sitting—not things I’m comfortable with. At least when you get a “no,” you have something definitive to work with. (Have I mentioned how much I value closure? A million times?) But it seems God is more interested in developing my character than catering to my preferences.

I know how I want to respond. Graciously. Hopefully. Full of hope that no matter what I’ve dreamed up for myself, His plan beats mine hands down every time. (And lucky me, I’m historical enough that I’ve got the journals to prove it.) Most of all, I want to respond willingly. I’m willing to move into a new neighborhood and live in a completely new way with completely new people. Or I’m willing to stay here and change my attitudes rather than my surroundings. Either way, sounds like a lot of processing and journaling await me between now and the next time I pull out the stockings. Makes my head hurt. Better go get myself a bubbly beverage. Happy New Year!