New Years. January 1st. Resolutions. Do-over. Starting fresh.
Lots was made this weekend about New Years resolutions. Everyone from ABC News to my pastor reminded me that my "secret" resolution to lose the weight for real this year is the #1 resolution made this time of year. And usually broken by the 2nd. Or the 5th. Some of us may even make it to 15th before falling off our exercise bikes.
A new year is seen as a clean slate. A chance to start over and get things right this time. We are temporal creatures. We measure our lives in decades and our history in centuries. But I had a reality check this weekend.
It doesn’t have to be January 1st for me to get a clean slate. It doesn’t have to be a Monday for me to "start over". I get a new beginning every time the second hand moves. Every time the sun rises. Every time it sets.
Jesus gives me a new beginning every moment of every day of my life. Now, I know what your thinking. "Oh, gawd. She’s going all religious and cliche on us." Not so.
My new beginnings are never pie-in-the-sky fluffy things. My new beginnings are borne of fire and mud. They are gritty, broiling things that burn to my core and cover me with the dirt of humanity and divinity. Yeah, I’ve discovered Jesus is dirty.
No, not that kind of dirty. Sheesh. What happened to that particular New Years resolution??
Jesus is dirty with the dirt and mud and muck of life. He gets down in there, where roots meet water and dirt. And He digs. And plants. And tends. And weeds. And He plays. Jesus seems to love a good mud fight.
Lately I’ve been living in the house. I’ve been inside my cozy cocoon, hiding from the pain of the holidays, covering my ears and pretending I don’t hear the cries of my own soul still on fire with grief and loss. The deaths of my parents haunt my soul at the holidays.
Sorrow and loneliness overtook me this weekend. Everyone had "someone" to kiss. Even Rachel had Joey on "Friends". I thought my heart ached for someone of my own. But I was wrong. My heart ached for the muddy fiery touch of my Beloved. My Jesus.
He was outside. I was inside. In my attempts to block out the pain of the holidays I’d left His side, out in the garden. Playing in the mud.
I cried out to Him and, instead of coming in to hold me, He called me out. Out into the rain and lightning. Into the mud of life.
And I stepped outside.
It’s been so long since I’ve been out here. I’ve spent years curled up inside by the fire; Jesus beside me, wrapping me in His wings and letting me shiver till the cold finally left my soul. We’ve dug our own gardens inside, near the fireplace, tending to plants inside. I needed that time to heal. I needed it. And Jesus knew it.
Then He went outside and I watched from the windows. In and out He’d go, and I tried to follow but I just couldn’t bring myself to stay out there…. and He’d always come back in for me.
I feel strangely empowered. Like I’ve never felt before. I feel ready to take on the outside again. Ready to face life head on. To take on challenges that have long stood in my path, mocking me for my weakness and keeping me tied down emotionally, spiritually, even physically.
I know this "new beginning" has always been here, waiting for me. But this is the first time I feel ready to take it on. Perhaps that’s what January 1st — and Mondays for all us life-long dieters — is really about. Its the day we finally feel ready to shed the past and move confidently into the future, heart, soul and body.
As I sit here, swinging on my porch swing and watching the sun set on the first day of 2006, I feel so different than last night. I am full of hope and confidence. In my future. In my God.
In Me.
