January 1, 2013

2013, you space-age number, you. I don't know what you will bring in, but I know you will wreak havoc as your predecessors have. I pray you'll bring peace, direction, and joy for many, but I know you'll bring changes.
I am 33 in 2013 (for most of it, at least).

2013, I must confess I doubt you. I'm a little bit afraid of you. You've already taken some things from me, like both of my roommates who will be leaving to marry their sweethearts this year.

2013, you might take the house I love away, or you might bring in new people into it. I'm not sure which will happen yet, but both involve major change. One mostly involves furniture-moving, the other involves learning to live with new and exciting sets of neuroses. 

2013, I'll keep taking my Sanity Lessons, which means you likely won't bring much rest as I work to pay for them. 

2013, if you're listening, I'll whisper my small hopes for you.

Bring family. I spent some lovely blue evenings at the close of 2012 with some of my precious friends whose hearts so long for family and home. Bring them love, and peace under the mysteries of its absence. Raise up connections and families for those who need them in their loneliness; among our churches, among our homes, let us love one another.

Bring inspiration. I forget that it is still all right to be inspired, sometimes. To have ideas, to get hopeful, to start projects in the hope of finishing them. Bring discipline and its severe joys.

Bring reminders, daily, momentarily, of thankfulness. Break our dependencies to numbness, novelties, and noise.