I don’t know anyone that will be sorry to see 2020 go. More than that, some are really struggling. My niece texted me a video the other day asking this question. In the middle of such angst, what do you do?
As I listened, I wondered how to console her.
Then she shifted her rant and encouraged me with her own message of hope, one we all need to hear:
“Can you send me the words to that?” I asked after I listened to it the first time. I’m a visual learner, sometimes I need to see the words.
“I haven’t written them down yet,” she said.
So I asked her to do that for you and here they are:
What Do You Do . . .
. . . when nothing left was 2 weeks ago?
. . . when you can’t inhale anymore without holding your own air in because you fear what will happen when you trust the oxygen around you enough to breathe out.
Seems like this year the world has waited for your exhale before it sends the next wave.
It has been winter for months.
Photo by Ruvim Miksanskiy from Pexels.
The weather didn’t wait for the leaves to change before it started running in the negatives.
And I did not know the state of shock until it arrived on my doorstep. Perfectly packaged, like a cardboard catastrophe with tape unraveling further than I thought possible.
What do you do when your smile has always found its way back, but you’re not sure if this is patient endurance or denial?
. . . when this year has contained some of the hardest months of your life and you haven’t shed a year?
Photo by Tainá Bernard from Pexels.
Can you tell me, when is it okay to be angry? To be in the red? To be firmly rooted in “I am not okay” when someone asks how you are doing. And how do you respond like that when you know that none of us have been okay in a long time?
I realized today . . .
. . . that when Jesus stepped forward,
that Calvary did not step backward.
And I don’t know that I am able to step forward right now,
as much as standing still,
or sitting down,
or laying sprawled out on the ground.
But I will not step backward.
Because if this is not all worth it in the end,
then my God is not God.
And I know my King.
I know that when life has roundhouse kicked me into autopilot
that He has been the one at the wheel.
I know that any encouragement that has sprung from my mouth,
has not sprung from my spring because I have fallen into winter before.
And when I was content with frostbite,
He wrapped me in His wool and pulled me near.
And with two planks of wood,
He made a fire to keep both of us warm.
So I will not be burned in this fire,
because I am kept by His.
Alexas_Fotos from Pixaby.
So I’ll give myself to this moment,
because I know His heart.
And when I feel myself outrunning another breakdown,
I’ll know that
He carried the cross for that, too.
And that’s what I’ll do.
(Feel free to share this if you know someone else it might speak to.)
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