The beginning of a book isn’t comfortable for me. It’s about a hundred pages of debating and negotiating with characters whether or not their credibility is more than perspective.
When I was in first grade, I had to begin a new school shortly after I had begun my old one. It was sort of like wearing both a new shoe and an old one and trying to avoid blisters. I began my day in one reading class, was passed to the next within twenty minutes, then passed to the next after less than ten minutes. It didn’t take the teachers long to figure out I excelled as a reader and that I filed math away in a Stephen King novel.
As a teacher, I have had thirteen first days, thirteen first classes, and thirteen new years. Thirteen days of fresh crayons, sharpened pencils that weren’t yet lost, thirteen days of reciting my expectations. The beginning of a school year is much like the beginning of a book in that the uncomfortableness eases itself into routine and a reliable plot.
As a human, I have had to begin several new beginnings. The beginning of life with a brother. The beginning of life without my great grandmother. The beginning of getting through a day knowing that a good friend never really was. The beginning of forced steps in a direction that didn’t live on a compass. The beginning of life standing up for myself when others tried to strong arm me into making decisions I didn’t want made. Each new beginning began a new direction that sometimes looped back to another, but most of the time forced me to reconcile truth I didn’t want to rely on.
And every year as the end of one story signs off and a new one breaks from a slumber, in between that space, I try to wake up.
I can’t say there’s much about 2017 that I’m particularly sentimental about. Good friends showed their true colors, others forced me to reconcile my own truth and stand up for it, even if reconciliation had consequences, the country in which I pledge my allegiance to each day is divided so deeply that a lot of people don’t even see the problem, and my health issues have certainly given me a run for my money.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m a complete half full girl, and if the glass is half empty, I find a smaller glass. So there was positives. I just had to dig with a smaller shovel.
To those that underestimated me: I think that it reflects on you more than it does me. It’s irritating, but I smile because I’ve already proved you wrong. Just remember that Jesus is meant to be a reflection, not a judgment. To those who supported me no matter what: you are the reason I look forward to a new year. It’s really as simple and as complex as that.
I look forward to new adventures that should’ve been already traveled. I am already wishing I could skip to chapter three and try and figure out the middle of the story first. However, in my faith, in my grounding, in my intimate meditations Jesus tends my heart with, I don’t have to know that the ending is everything I hoped for, everything I dreamed, and everything I need it to be.
And it is starting over, once again. Another first. Another beginning.That’s okay. Sometimes a good do over is exactly what it takes for your true north to sit down, take a breath, and be.
Just because my story isn’t finished doesn’t mean it’s already ended.
It’s just begun.
Cheers to 2018.Read More