I am imagining, just now, you and me, or maybe a few of us, meeting up in some cozy space, a coffee shop or my living room, a few days into the new year, sipping our teas and our coffees. We linger unhurried over warm conversation. I ask you about your hopes for a new year. I ask, “Do you remember this time last year? What dreams did you have? How did the year turn out?”
Maybe I’d ask about your New Year’s practice. Do you have some way of looking back and moving forward? Do you set goals? Choose a word? Do you labor for hours, alone or with others, crafting a Rule of Life?
Perhaps you are one who skips uncaring straight from one year to another, one day exactly like the next. No judgement here.
I am somewhere between. Not all the way into resolutions, and yet some sense of anticipation. Some years, like this, the process of entry is gradual. Not so much the drop of a ball and midnight kiss, as a slow good-bye and eventual hello.
The arrival of our most recent New Year’s Eve found me spinning from the joys and chaos of nonstop Christmas. I stumbled around in some sort of stupor, not from drink, but the leftover buzz of social gluttony. We’d filled bunkbeds and lavished gifts and celebrated every blessing of family. We’d feasted and sweeted and snuggled and played, right up to the end of the year, and beyond. It has taken me a few days to regain my bearings, take a breath, and take stock.
For the first time in 23 years I shelved my go-to journal for a brand new version. A dozen matching refills sit in a perfect stack beneath their leather cover. But a few days into 2025 I felt the need for a change. Why change, after all these years? I imagine my offspring one day, sorting through Mom’s collections, asking a similar question.
Last year’s pages were all in pencil. This year I pick up my pen. I ink the first page—2024 in Review: Together. Kyle & me. Holy Spirit. When the Lion Roars. “Come on my soul.” Romans 12. New Creation Vocation. Prophetic Joy. 2 new babies. 35 years of marriage. 10 years of adoption.
A year of hard, and so much good.
I look ahead, making more lists. Hopes & Dreams. Goals & Practices. Limited Perspective. Unlimited God.
I make a list of things that intrigue me. I fill a page with the things I wonder.
Last year Kyle and I spent New Year’s Day in our quiet home, cozy fire, planning together. This year in was January 4th when finally we escaped for a bit of alone time, running errands, recapping the year in our car. And where last year’s goals seemed Spirit-hazy—this year’s conversation feels rather wild and scary.
But we shall see.
Our perspective is ridiculously limited. We know this. We have no real idea where tomorrow will take us, and yet we trust a God who speaks and leads. In looking back and remembering we take note of all the ways He’s been faithful. And as we make plans we seek a gust of the Spirit’s wind.
And so we’re here—you and me—sipping our cups of imagined tea, warmed by imagined fire. Sharing memories, joys and sorrows, surprises and disappointments. Together we wonder about the year ahead. We wrestle with doubt. We admit our fears. We reclaim joy. We trust.
You tell me you’ll pray. I offer the same.
Thank you, friend. Here’s to the start of a brand new year.
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