I know you thought I had forgotten about you, that you had become just another number in a string of years, but I remembered. I heard you sneak in while I was putting away the family Christmas decorations. I saw you peeking around the coffee pot. I know you've been thirsty for acknowledgement, for someone to celebrate that you've brought something to the table, something fresh and READY for new life.
The crisp anticipation of things to come.
But it's hard to transition into newness when the bright, glowing promises of a new year turn out to be dim, barely-flickering candles on the verge of being snuffed out.
It's hard to choose newness when you're in pain.
Truth be told, 2015, my soul hurts.
And I didn't know what to DO, because the fanfare of the new year is over (so, so over...) and no one is thinking of fresh starts and beginnings anymore. For most of everyone I know, 2015 is HAPPENING... and me? I'm a late bloomer, more than fashionably late to this party.
And that's why it's been so hard to write lately.
And that's part of the reason the posts on this blog have been so few and far between. I can't decide what to tell you.
Do I write about my struggles and frustrations and victories, about being a woman in leadership? Do I write about my favorite recipes and my hatred of jogging? Do I tell you about our new house, creating a sanctuary in the middle of personal chaos, finding joy in everyday moments and the lessons I learn every day? Do I talk about personal goals and triumphs, failures and times when despite my best intentions, I lose it all? Do I reveal the inner-workings of God's scandalous grace on my heart, do I write about my revelations from time spent in His presence and what it feels like to be so imperfect and still so loved?
The short answer is yes.
I feel it all. You feel it all. And the best gift we can give each other is the true, unfiltered (but still grammatically correct), holy, AUTHENTIC, vulnerable pieces of who we are.
So let's keep on keepin' on, and I'll meet you right here.