"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness." ((keats))

Here's to a year. A year that's ending much different, but quite like it started. With the basics still being the best. The invisible still the strongest. The only constant being the lack there of, except in the Infinite and Always God-with-us.

 

Here's to a year of reading. Of words upon words to take me away, or to simply bring my heart and mind back to something more ancient than my own temporary woes.

Here's to late night coffee, making other plans, 

and being ok with not being ok.

Here's to Uganda: a place where my soul comes alive in ways I didn't realize it was dead. Where God speaks so clearly and so closely, the hairs on my neck tingle under his breath.

To a place that became my crucible. In tears. In silence. 

In journaling. In songs. In closure.

Here's to M. Mads. Madeleine. Maddie. Ling ling. Bird. My joy. She catches me off guard with love and I like it. 

She deserves so much more than I could give her. 

Thank God I'm not it.

Here's to a year of growing friendships. Friends who have held my hands as I've wept and lost words. Friends who have shouldered burdens. Friends who can step through my door and bring such unspeakable joy with one smile. 

Sisters really. 

That's really what they are.

 

Here's to a year of sunsets that continually took my breath away. Sunsets (and sunrises) that forced me to pull off the road or step out on the porch. Chances to get lost in the complete and total waste of time, which really wasn't wasted at all. 

Here's to afternoons at bookstores, libraries, thrift stores. 

 

Famous last words: "Whatever you do, don't cut bangs."

Here's to my bangs.

To the house with the red door. To Hickory Grove. 

To my other home.

 

Here's to New York mountains and valleys. To the Empire State in the rich summer. 

To the sweethearts and young men who have my love more than they'll ever know.

 

Here's to old things, used things, forgotten things.

 

To a New York Thanksgiving. The trees. The fog. The cold. 

The family. The tears. The laughter.

The ones I am forever linked to, gladly.

 

 

Here's to a year scattered with dark, cold nights. Nights where I thought my soul might escape with the next breath, and I was ok with that. 

Nights where I waited by candlelight for the dawn to break.

 

To the light that shines in the hearth and my heart. The Light that sustained me.

 

To my new best friends.

Here's to a year of discovering that to give up your life for another is a good way to go.

 

To a home in the south. A home in the north. A love for the comfortable. The sweet. The colored.

The old. The creaking. The pine.

The dirt. The muck. The sweat.

The sleep. The rest. The peace.

 

Here's to a year of finding and discovering, all while realizing there's nothing to be found that has not yet been discovered. There's no secret spell or twist of fate.

Here's to a year of resting and abiding with a Father who is sovereign,

faithful,

always working,

ever steady,

ever bright.

And here's to the next one.