When I step outside today and feel the cold droplets on my scalp and squish oversaturated ground beneath my feet, perhaps instead of pouting and searching the skies for the sun, I should instead search my heart.

I’ve spent most of my holiday break thus far making piles of Amazon boxes for my husband to break down (because this is his favorite way to love and serve our marriage). I am also tackling all the house projects nobody cares about but me. Come January I will complain about how quickly the time went and how little “me time” I had. After refusing to sit still for two weeks I will claim I have no margin for self-care. THIS IS HOW I THRIVE.

There is something about the holiday season that magnifies our loss and suffering. Loneliness becomes a living, breathing force to be reckoned with. The number of suicides increases at an alarming rate. Oh how this must grieve the heart of God. This season is intended to celebrate His love for the world, a love expressed through the gift of His son, Jesus, who came to give us life to the fullest (John 10:10). If your light has gone dim, let Jesus’ light break through the darkness on your behalf.

It’s a far cry from the mature, thoughtful lyrics of Natalie Cole’s My Grown Up Christmas List, but let’s be real: I can’t stop a war or heal broken hearts. I CAN throw on some Crest whitening strips and bronzer lotion.

“Prov, we’re decorating the tree. Would you like to join us or would you rather read your book?”

“I’d rather read.” She said this as if it was completely in character for her to bypass a family tradition. I bit my tongue. This was new. I didn’t like it one bit. I thought for sure she’d put down her book once we got started and pulled out some of her favorite ornaments. She didn’t. And a little piece of me died inside.

Our loved one is no longer living, but we are. There is grief in the loss and gratitude in the survival. Difficult as it was, we came out on the other side. We still have a story to share, a life yet to live.

The expression “over the hill,” felt like a real thing, like I’d actually spent the last forty years trudging up a steep hill, but instead of celebrating when I reached the top, I collapsed, sobbed out of pure exhaustion, ripped off my high heels (because someone who never hikes wouldn’t have the proper footwear) and threw them over the edge in dramatic fashion, vowing never to climb a hill again.

We walked through our new home in California two weeks ago for the first time. Guess what color the walls were? Grey. Grey as an overcast Seattle sky. I groaned. But then something unexpected happened; my husband looked at me and said, “Paint the walls.” I’ve waited eight years to hear those words.

When my children were infants and struggling to fall asleep, I’d sing “He’s Got the Whole Word in His Hands,” as I paced with them around their nursery at night. Sometimes I’d laugh to myself at the image of God holding SO many things in His hands at once (grandparents, barnyard animals, oceans, and mountains just to name a few). How could He possibly juggle it all? I can barely juggle my purse, phone, and coffee cup as I walk to my car each morning.

True, I won’t miss the weather or the bugs or the ungodly commute to the nearest Costco, but I also won’t miss who we were before we rolled into this small town.

Truth, righteousness, peace, faith, salvation, and God’s word; each piece of armor should be so well-used, so familiar, that they slip on like a favorite pair of jeans. God’s given us everything we need to protect, defend, and fight. He has prepared us for battle, just in case.

Surely all would be set right soon. We just had to be patient and watch the horizon. After all, lifeboats aren’t meant to house people for any great length of time. How long can anyone really live in a lifeboat? It turns out, a long time.

Imagine cozying up under a fresh blanket and waiting quietly in the dark, slowly rising, preparing to meet your purpose, and instead, you’re met with a punch in the face and more time in the dark. Life is like that sometimes, isn’t it?

Oh, what I’d give to put my ear to the wall of heaven and listen in on God’s plans for my life! I often resent the limitations of my knowledge. If I could only get the slightest hint, just a brief snippet of the work He has yet to reveal, maybe it could help me make the decisions I need to make today.

We’ll miss a whole lot if we run ahead of God. A slower and steadier pace is sometimes exactly what we need. It keeps us from using up all our strength, from speeding past the glorious scenery around us, from running head-on into danger, from hearing His quiet voice of wisdom; it keeps us from getting lost. 

These scars will always be part of us. We can choose to revisit them over and over, reopening the wounds and rubbing the skin raw. Or we can choose to let the scar tissue heal, harden, and protect us from future hurt. We can choose to head back into battle, head held high, experience to show and wisdom gained. We’ll never forget how we got each scar, and we won’t forget what we learned from them either.

You’ve heard the saying, “You can’t pour from an empty cup.” Well, it’s true. My sluggishness, fatigue, and muddy mind are the remnants swirling around the bottom of my proverbial empty cup. I trust as my new morning ritual becomes more and more routine, I will see a world of difference.

What would happen to our posture, our confidence, and our outlook on life if we yearned for God the way sunflowers yearned for the sun? I believe we would stand taller, our feet planted firmly in His truth, refusing to be blown about by the winds of change.

It warms my heart when my children pick a favorite book we’ve read no less than a hundred times because they love it just as much as they did the first time they heard it. I remember certain books I read over and over as a child. I read them so many times the covers were worn and the pages yellowed. The characters are still imprinted in my heart. I visit them in my memories, like old friends catching up.

Stop rolling through stop signs, speeding, and driving with oversized decor hanging from your rearview mirror. Don’t drive with the gas light on and make sure to check your headlights before you pull out at night. And no, offering an assortment of jellybeans to the officers who pull you over is not a good idea.