A Prayer for 2018

"no, no, it's not all random, if it really was all random, the universe would abandon us completely. and the universe doesn't. it takes care of its most fragile creations in ways we can't see. like with parents who adore you blindly. and a big sister who feels guilty for being human over you. and a little gravelly-voiced kid whose friends have left him over you. and even a pink-haired girl who carries your picture in her wallet. maybe it is a lottery, but the universe makes it all even out in the end. the universe takes care of all its birds.” 
― R.J. Palacio, Wonder

On New Year's Eve morning, we made pancakes. They were fluffy and sweet and filled with bananas. We topped them with syrup, cashew butter and blueberries. As we sipped our coffee and prepared to eat far too many of them, we decided to say a prayer for 2018. 

As we began, I realized how much was weighing on my heart for the year ahead. I found myself hurriedly praying through a long checklist of items: for our world to find a little more peace than it did in 2017. For our country to move in the right direction and our leaders to make wise decisions. For our planet to be well cared for. For baby Saxon to be healthy and keep growing into the human it is intended to be. For our jobs, and our lives in Virginia as a soon-to-be family of three. For our families, who are also in seasons of great transition. For our friends to have abundant, gentle years ahead. For the people we don't know, but whom we know are aching. 

I felt overwhelmed by all that was on my heart. I often wonder, in these moments, if there was more to pray for this year, or if I'm just paying closer attention. Am I naive to think 2017 was harder on the world than other years? 

It hit me, then, that 2017 had some incredibly painful parts to it, especially in world news. But, so did many other years. Not only the ones in my life, but also in the decades upon decades before me. 

In a way, this realization made me feel less overwhelmed. I was reminded that I am just one person in a huge world. My life is one small thing, alongside millions of other lives that, together, comprise humanity.

This is not to say that our lives and the things that happen to us don't matter - they most certainly do. But it helped me remember that there will always, always be years that are hard.

It is my prayer that they are followed - hopefully closely - by years that are more joyful. God takes care of his people in ways we do not understand and sometimes cannot immediately see. This Earth has never promised to be simple or easy. In its complexity, we must pray for one another, rely on one another and always, always remember that we are not alone.

Here's to You, 2017

I spent the last few weeks trying to tie 2017 up with a bow. I wanted to make sense of the year - of its highs and lows and joys and sorrows. I wanted to define it by a word or give it an overall theme. I wanted to take control, bottle it up and make it digestible. 

But, even with all my reflecting, 2017 can't be simplified to a word. There was too much packed into it. There was our trip to Kenya, which was full of shockingly high highs and low lows. While we were there, we decided to move to Virginia, start a family and buy a house. These were beautiful, incredible decisions that also required us to say goodbye to dear friends and a city we loved. 

The second half of the year - the pregnant half - was marked by resting more, reducing my exercise and caring for my body in a new and focused way. It created a stark contrast to the first half of the year, when were were sweating bullets farming in Kenya and preparing for a Spartan Race in July. 

And for all of the excitement in our personal lives, there was so much heartache in the world. There were tragedies and frustrations that made it feel odd, on certain days, to celebrate the progress of our own little family. 

What I realized, though, as I attempted to define 2017, is that adult life is often so much more complex than I was allowing it to be.

The deepest, truest, most beautiful seasons of life can't be boiled down to a single word.

Anyone have a source?

They are abundant seasons of growth that stretch us, define us and give us life. They teach us to lean on those we love harder and stand a little stronger when they ask the same in return. They teach us we are brave and worthy and bold. They show us, without a doubt, that this world is vast and beautiful and we need, daily, to give the best we can to it. 

So, here's to you, 2017. In all your crazy beauty. I am thankful for you. As for you, 2018? I approach you with a grateful heart. Our hopes are high and our prayers are big. We believe in all you have to offer. 

Happy New Year, to you and yours. 

2016 Was a Beautiful, Hard, Real Year

It's my last morning in Indiana and the second to last day of 2016. I woke up to snow on the ground and the bright, orange sun rising above a row of houses. It breaks through the blue grey clouds and warms my room, its golden arms reaching out to me beneath my comforter. Christmas is over and now we're in that phase where my heart begins to yearn for spring long before it's acceptable. Warm me, sun. Warm me, I smile through the window.

What will I say about 2016?, I wonder as I lie there, reflecting on the year. Personally, it was a year of great joy. I got married. I left my job to pursue The Letter Project. I went to Greece and moved in with a boy for the first time. I got to watch my baby brother get married. I learned new rhythms for what my relationships look like after marriage and what my days look like after Corporate America. The year was full of new beginnings and routines. It was amazing.

But, beyond me, 2016 brought a lot of pain. One of my best friends lost her dad suddenly and we all felt that loss in our hearts and souls. I ached for her in a way I didn't know you could ache for a friend. He was a good, kind man and his quick departure left a cavern, a hole he once filled with constant laughter and love.

Outside of us, there was also a lot of tragedy across America and on a global scale. There was loss and pain for people all around the world. And, of course, there was a shocking presidential election.

Am I still allowed to say 2016 was great? I wonder as I watch the sun burn through the clouds, the grey dissipating and a bright, blue sky pressing through.

I am a dichotomous person. I do not operate well in the in between. It's either this or that. It's good or bad. It's happy or sad. It's a success or a failure. This or that gives me the feeling of control. It allows me to believe I understand what the year meant, have put it in a box and tied it with a bow. It was a happy year! 

But, what 2016 taught me is that sometimes, we have to operate in the in between. Sometimes we have to stand within the schism, stretching our arms to both sides, touching the good and the bad simultaneously. We have to feel every bit of it wash over our bodies, understanding that we must be the bridge between the two. 

We have to replace the or with an and because and is a bridge. It's happy and it's sad. 2016 was beautiful and it was hard. It was alarmingly bitter and incredibly sweet. Sometimes moments of great joy run parallel with moments of great pain and it is our job not to understand them, but to feel them.

2016 was a year of great joy and pain. It was the year of and. And that is very much OK. 

Here's to you, 2016, in all your beauty and pain, fullness and emptiness. Here's to honesty, love, beginnings and endings. Here's to bravery. Here's to big, bold and. 

a new year // a new sled

Last year over Christmas break we got heaps of snow. And although we didn't have sleds, we made a quick trip to Target and cleaned out the last few they had left. They all broke within an hour, at which point we were going down the hills on just pieces of sleds, but it didn't matter. It's one of my favorite memories with my siblings.

So this year? My dad kindly planned ahead. He bought to fastest (manliest) sleds he could find. He knew how much fun we had last year and wanted us to be prepared.

But, for the first time in as long as I can remember, we didn't get snow on Christmas in Indiana this year. Nothing but a few flurries!

Isn't it funny how life works? We can plan until the cows come home but, in the end, we can't control a thing. There wasn't a sled in the world that could bring us enough snow. And, as it turns out, there wasn't a thing in the world I could do to predict how 2013 would unfold for me, either.

I had no idea I would live in three places. Spend two weeks in Africa. Join a new bible study. Get to spend two impromptu weeks at the beach with my family. Quit dating and start dating someone. Learn to accept help.

But on the days when things didn't seem so perfect - say when the rats came back, after a few bad dates or when watching one of my very best friends get married meant watching her leave not just our roommateship, but Atlanta, too? On those days, I was wishing for a sled. I was wishing I was in control - that I could just be in charge and make things happen how I'd intended them to.

But that's not life, and as I look back, I couldn't be more grateful for the way life unfolded in 2013. The good, the bad and the beautiful. Because, the more I learn, the more I realize I don't know much at all. This world is big and has so much to teach me. All I can do is do my best and go along for the ride. Sled or no sled.

Happy New Year!