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Saturday, December 31, 2011

End of a Weathered Year

When I was around twelve years old, I didn't like seeing the new year come. I didn't want to get older, I didn't want to see the changes I knew were bound to happen, and I didn't like that feeling of cutting the old year off once and for all. It felt like a dying and a birth too close together.

Now I enjoy the yearly milestone. I see it more as gentle closure...God gave me an empty year the way my parents have given me blank journals. I filled it, and I'm ready for another.
Of course, as I always find with my handwriting, life ends up messier and more complicated than I had anticipated. As I misspell words and scribble hastily, I speak what shouldn't be said or don't take the time to finish my tasks to the degree that they ought to be finished. I spill ink and have to scrub the carpet--I disregard the commands of God and must accept the consequences.
Every once in a while, an entry ends up pretty and neat, but it would be foolish to think that I really had much to do with such a work of beauty. So I am assured that my sanctification continues, because of Christ.

The old year is a dear one, but it has been filled. The last page has been written, and it's time to stack it away with past years until times come when I wish to remember or share with others. For now, I smell the clean, crisp, unstained pages of the new year and pray that I'll have the childishness to ask my Father if He'll hold my hand and help me write.

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