I love the last day of the year.
New Year’s Eve has always been one of my favorite days. Because it feels like one last chance to breathe deep before the canvas is drenched in white again. One last chance to sit in the quiet with myself, contemplating all the remarkable possibilities that are held inside the walls of a new thing.
This year, the inhale of possibility and the exhale of a year feels more like relief than it has in many years. So much so that I’m starting my own quiet festivities early. Husband and puppy tucked into bed, I take to the kitchen to make some vegetable soup. Because chopping vegetables feels a little like liturgy, and God knows 2014 has needed more than its fair share of that. So I stand at the stove, and I chop, and I breathe in the smells of things that have risen from the ground, that have been brought up from the dust, and sometimes everything I need to know is in a pot of vegetable soup.
God’s best things are the things raised from the dust. The things that have been buried. The things that have been made into something new, the things brought low and destroyed in the process.
This year has been so very hard. Is it okay to say that? I hope so, because it has been.
Hear me when I tell you that I don’t say that for pity. I don’t say it to open up a public forum for me to air my personal grievances with life
I say it because I know, to the depths of my soul, that I’m not the only one.
I’m not the only one burying dreams.
I’m not the only one desperate for the clean oxygen of a fresh start.
I’m not the only one thinking, “Is it okay to say this year has been REALLY damn hard?”
I’m not the only one who needs a pot of vegetable soup and a reminder.
A reminder that God’s best things are the things raised from the dust.
You have not been left buried, dear one.
You’re being raised from the dust.