Hello, January

O to grace how great a debtor

Daily I'm constrained to be!

Let that grace now like a fetter,

Bind my wandering heart to Thee.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,

Prone to leave the God I love;

Here's my heart, O take and seal it,

Seal it for Thy courts above.

-Robert Robinson, Hymn, Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing

So the woman left her water jar and went away into town and said to the people, “Come, see a man who told me all I ever did. Can this be the Christ?”

John 4: 28-29

January. Here we are again. There is a certain kind of freshness, a special spark about you. You brim with possibility and hope for change and renewal. A chance to make things new and different. I like you and the new things you bring, but you also can make things rough. Are the things you hold out even possible, even doable? 

After all, my Facebook and Pinterest feeds are full of reminders to take charge this year; make THIS be THE year; carpe diem all the things; get the body/job/life that I want in 3 easy steps; how to get rid of personal annoying habits and tendencies. Ah, January. You remind me of all the good and bad things about myself. You call me to my highest self, you remind me of good things to chase and ponder and hope for. But you also slyly point out all my shameful characteristics, my physical limitations. It’s rather unfair, actually, the way you raise my sights and slam the door shut all at the same time. The idealist in me (which takes up 83.732% of me) feels like Anne Shirley in January: “Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” The realist in me (which takes up the rest of me, and yet is louder than the idealist sometimes) feels the tug of habit and circumstance and fatigue and boredom and selfishness. 

There is so much I want from 2016; there is so much I want to give in 2016. I want to plunge in and experience the ups and downs and joys and sorrows. And yes, January, as you so neatly remind me once a year, I am my own worst obstacle. I give in to worry and fear and anxiety. I seek distraction in shows and the internet more often than is healthy. I make goals that probably aren't attainable or are too vague in nature. I make an art of people-pleasing. I start everything with the best of intentions, but usually seem to fall back to what’s easiest and established. Yet in spite of myself, I have seen some really positive and encouraging changes the past few years. It seems all transformation, all change is fluid. We take steps forward; we take steps back. We must have patience with ourselves and with each other—we are always in process, each on a journey towards who we want to be. 

Even though you spur me on to resolve and transform, you are also an anchor, a reminder to reflect. January, you will always hold beautiful and hard things for me. My miscarriage was exactly two years ago, and I hold in my heart not only that sad memory, but more so the hope that I have a child waiting for me in heaven. Ben and I have our wedding anniversary in January, and it’s such a celebration to delight over, and think about all the good and wonderful days and years and memories we have, and looking ahead to more years together. There are birthdays to remember this month, people I love and can’t wait to celebrate.

When I think about the next 12 months and on what to focus, I want it to be something that I can hold fast to, something that won’t change with circumstances or schedules or plans. There will be failures and successes, jumpstarts and setbacks. I read John 4 earlier this winter, and was struck by how Jesus said the Father is looking for worshipers, who will worship Him in spirit and truth. These words are ancient and beautiful and full of mystery, and I keep coming back to them. Jesus transformed the very nature of following after God. It’s not on a certain mountain or town (as Jesus says to the Samarian woman) or in a specific building or through the Laws of the Old Testament or the laws and rules I set up myself or what others have set up. 

In days of pain and fatigue from my fibromyalgia and endometriosis, I have realized that yes, I can be a worshiper in spite of my circumstances. I can seek Him in spirit and truth. I can pray that God will realign my heart, my mind through Scripture, through song, through nature, through relationships. I can still adore the Redeemer and Creator, still pray through my pain and fears knowing that He is completely for me, for this world. In seeking to be a worshiper, I seek to be a kind of mirror—treasuring Jesus by reflecting His truth and grace in prayer and obedience; mirroring oh so dimly to those around me His love and life. 

This is what I want 2016 to be about. This is what I want to be about. This is what I want to set in motion, January. Seeking to reflect God’s good story, God’s good work in me into the world. I think being a worshiper also means accepting and seeking to understand His unfailing love for me, and to hold out that hope for others. He is the One who does the work in us and for us, in love and faith. This mystery is what holds our faith together, and His love is what will set all things right, is what will truly transform. His love in our lives is what will make all years and all moments shine and sparkle.