At the beginning of everything we wonder what it will be like, if we'll have the story just as we planned, if we'll be surprised along the way. We wonder how the new path that meanders into the future and into the transformation and into the beauty will go. We worry about it, too, don't we, worry that we'll miss the boat or miss the newness or be stuck in the same old pattern.
But the secret to beginnings is to close our eyes to the future, and open our hearts to the present. To firmly shut the gate on all those insecurities, those nagging questioning pushing persistent doubts and say, behold He makes all things new. And we open ourselves up again, and again and again until the whole of us is soaking in the sun and running through rainstorms and all the while reveling in what's new.
I imagine to myself that maybe I could begin this year, full of its questions and fenceposts fluttering with possibilities, I could shut my worry and revel in all the things that are beginning. I'm beginning to be a writer. I'm beginning to fall in love with history. I'm beginning to learn to pray. I'm beginning to wake up each morning with the promises of His love wafting through the air like honeysuckle in June. I'm beginning to grow into all the spaces in my heart that are waiting for me to love more fully and more deeply. I'm beginning to see Him. I'm beginning to see all of you, too, and all the wonder that you are.
All of that newness, and my eyes must drink it in. So I listen and look and wriggle in the newness of me.