End Well

It is the last day of the year. The very last few hours of 2010. There is a lot of pressure on this day.

I woke up with a strange sense of sadness. Reluctant to get out of bed, to start this day. I knew I would spend the day doing just this: reminiscing. I knew I would spend the day recollecting and cataloguing the past twelve months. Deep down, I also knew I'd like what I'd find. But if there's a lot of pressure on today, the pressure on tomorrow is even greater.

I am sitting here in my favorite spot. I could come here alone and sit for hours, never feeling out of place or lonely. Intentionally, I choose a seat facing the door. People walk in and out and every once in a while, someone will catch my eye. Usually a family who has come to share breakfast together. Children with gooey chocolate donuts and parents with Belmont bagels. Today two women have caught my eye. One woman was here clearly waiting on someone who never showed up. I just watched her get up and buy herself breakfast and sit down in quiet defeat, her eyes still watching the door. The other is a tall redhead whose eyelashes and eyebrows are painted on. Her hair is not her own, but most would never notice.

These are the people I come here to see. These people who have stories. Epic, intertwined stories which somehow led them to be in the same place as me this morning.

Outside the big, glass windows the wind is blowing and the air is warm. In defiance of winter I put on flip flops with my sweats this morning. It is warm enough. I believe this is a gift specifically for Rachel Frazier and myself.

This is my safe place. And I have come here today to unpack.

2010 was the year of stories.

Our life is our story. And no matter how mundane, how uneventful, how unfortunate, how lucky or blessed your life so far has been... your life so far has been your story. Your real life began the moment you were born - if not before.

There are moments, however, when everything seems to change. There may come a moment when you begin experiencing life in a brand new way. An instant when the story picks up pace. A pivotal moment, an unprecedented lesson. Circumstances change. The veil is lifted or the scales fall away. You meet him, or her. You will have more than just a few moments like this if you are pursuing a full life, a great story. And even if you're not, even if you have no idea what living a great story even means, you are going to stumble all over a moment before too long.

And then everything is going to change.

In 2010, my story picked up its pace.

Real life had been happening. Real change had occurred. Transformation had taken place within and around me; something had been growing. Something bloomed this year.

For the past few years my only New Year's resolution has been to do better. Steadily, progressively, ever since i made that resolution I really have done better.

2009 was a year of breaking and stretching and growing. There was a lot of pain and uncertainty and searching. This was the year the Father put His hands on my face and professed His love and spoke His identity over me. I stumbled on the Spirit and the beauty of loving Him fully. I walked around with sore muscles and open eyes. The proverbial stitches and bandages on all my wounds were the center of God's attention.

But 2010 came.

A page turned and what had been a story about brokenness and redemption was so suddenly an epic story about adventure and risk and passion. I got a front seat ticket to watch God fulfill promises and connect dots for me. I cannot explain to you the ways in which I've changed. My life has taken a sharp turn, facing me towards more mountains and a new horizon. Forty small children have transformed my heart and stretched my very capacity to love. I don't know how to tell you about the protection God's placed over my life, or about the day when He lifted that - in order to show me how much progress we'd made together. I asked Him to put me back together. And He made that the ultimate work of 2010.

I feel like I've lost a lot of my gifts this year. The creative aspect of myself has dwindled to almost nothingness, and even now I'm grasping for straws. Words are few. You can't explain this stuff. But the Father has introduced a few more, which I never dreamed would be part of my identity. He's taught me what it means to be a leader, and about what it means to use the gifts of His spirit.

Exactly a year ago, I wrote the words "of finishing school, of spiritual gifts, about where to serve, who to reach out to", regarding my thoughts about the upcoming year. I couldn't have known God would be just so good and choose to answer those very questions.

I want you to know what it means to walk down a dirt road in a skirt towards a mud hut, not wanting to be anywhere else in the world. Or watching the sky pour down rain to your right and to your left, while you stand under sunshine. Or to walk into a home and be handed a three week old baby, to have a small boy throw himself into your arms. Or what it means to be stopped in your tracks by what your heart understands to be the manifestation of God. To ask for His presence and have the wind blow.

This year was the year of children.

I went back to school this year. Secretly afraid I wasn't going to make it, I am here on the other side of the first semester, feeling triumphant. I am one of those lucky few who knows what work they've been made to do. With that comes a lot of responsibility and pressure. And a great joy when all else seems to crumble around me. I know my work.

My dad got married this year.

I learned how to listen. And found myself rising up against a glass ceiling.

He decided to teach me how to trust.

I chose singleness.

There were no kisses in 2010, unless little children kissed my cheeks.

There was no hand holding in 2010, unless I was walking down the street with small children in tow.

But God taught me about my worth. Gave me a glimpse of how the world see me. Led others to invest in me.

Actually, I can't believe it's over. I'm so afraid I'll forget.

This year's resolution is the same as the past two: this year I will do better.

Maybe this year will involve more leaving, more staying. More running.

I want to create and listen.

I want to love and be loved. I want to be gentle and gracious and bold.

When I walk through the door this year, I want you to see Jesus. I want His light to shine in my eyes.

-

I'm going to leave the bakery now. Too bad Bonnie isn't here so we can profess out loud that 2011 will be the best one yet.

Because when you say things aloud here... they happen. Just believe me. Who's surprised I have stories?

There's a lot of pressure on today. The high expectation to end well.

Go. Leave slowly. End well.