It’s only a minute into 2019 and I’ve already come to the conclusion that it’s the same shiz, different year.
I didn’t like 2018. I didn’t like having an appendectomy the same weekend Bera had her first ER visit. I didn’t like Mrs. D dying. I didn’t like having anxiety. I really didn’t like having another miscarriage.
So, naturally, when it’s time for a new year, you hope for magical differences. But I haven’t suddenly started sleeping through the night or loving our apartment or enjoying winter or not worried about having more kids. Our house didn’t instantly sell and I didn’t fall pregnant and stay pregnant. I still don’t have a clear picture of our future– a sibling for Bera, a home we can thrive in or rest.
These are things that no amount of resolutions or good habits can produce. I’ve learned it’s out of my control. So I guess instead of resolve, I need trust.
Trust. I don’t usually pick a word for the year, but this one picked me. Trust that I won’t go through anything that He can’t hold and bear for me. Trust in His sovereignty. Trust that all this turbulence (and any that is to come) will be used for something good.
So far in 2019 I haven’t been sleeping well. And we can’t afford to move. And I won’t have kids that are close in age.
But this morning I sat near the window and craned my neck so I could see the morning sun from our dark apartment. And yesterday Bera and I spent two hours in Brooklyn Bridge Park, laughing and swinging and pretending to be birds. Since it’s winter we had the whole place to ourselves. We walked home at dusk and Lady Liberty was all shiny and bright and we pressed our cheeks together to look at her together and I thought “I can do this.” Even if nothing changes this year, I can do this.
“…and if not, he is still good, oh, glory, he is still God.”