The Only Resolution I Need
We ended 2011 with sparkles of light, rainbow cackles of joy streaking across the lawn. My little ones danced and twirled, sang happy new year to you, and hopped like glittering frogs across the pool of December darkness. I wanted to capture the fun, to record one final memory before the old year dissolved into new. Camera in hand, I stood on the front step and zoomed in on the glimmers. But by the time the fast-moving light was framed and the shutter clicked, a charred metal stick was all that remained of the galloping glow.
Those fleeting flames remind me of my new year’s resolutions over the years- bursts of bright hope followed by a quick fade. I’ve spent decades resolving to change. I’ve scribbled goals in journals and tucked dream-filled post-it-notes into Bibles. I’ve devised plans and processes. I’ve considered measures and milestones. And still each new year unfolds differently than I’d imagined— messier than my tidy resolutions, better than my best-laid plans. It’s not that my resolutions have been fickle or unattainable. Some have been quite admirable; others- ambitious. The problem with resolutions, I realized, as I watched my children welcome in the new year with sparklers and songs is that they are MINE. My plans. My ideas. My goals. My new year’s resolutions have always been dreams that I’ve invited the Lord to endorse.
I began to write a book and asked the Word made flesh to bless it, and He whispered, “I’m writing a different story this year.” And instead of growing my writing career, He grew babies in my womb. One interrupted our days with unplanned pain– a baby who relocated to Heaven before his mommy could hold him. Another invaded our lives with unplanned joy– a Christmas gift I didn’t realize I wanted until he was placed in my arms.
I learned to juggle four children and began to dream of life beyond the diaper pail. I said yes to new ministries and new adventures. I picked up my pen again in the dark of night and began to write. I captured nouns and verbs when the noise of the day had ceased and my growing ones succumbed to sleep. I laid plans for a career of words, a life of stories published and admired. But the Lord who write stories for His glory, said yes to a different adventure. Yes to new life and yes to growing this aspiring word-girl into a woman desperately dependent on the Word. He stretched my faith by stretching my womb once again, and then He dared me to trust Him for daily bread. The next new year began with a miracle and manna for each moment. I should have forsaken resolutions by then. 
But still I planned. I asked God to open doors that I wanted to walk through and He whispered, “You’re not ready for what’s on the other side.” After thirteen years, I lifted my head from the murky waters of sleep deprivation and I dreamed new dreams. I told Him of the great things I’d do for Him if He’d just bless my efforts, merely give me a little help along the way. And He murmured patiently, “I want you to do small things with great love.”
The last sparkler had been tossed into the rocks. The only remnant of our glittering celebration was the charred smell of smoke and little noses chilled red from cold. My resourceful one picked up a blackened stick and wondered aloud if he could use it to build something new in the morning. He gathered all the worn out sparklers and carried them to the craft room with plans to create in the new year.
I tucked my tired ones into bed with kisses and prayers- these two surprise gifts who had not been in my plans– and I pictured those charred sticks in the basement, waiting for morning to be shaped into something new. New mercies every morning. When the shimmers of my own plans fade, God always steps in and creates something new. Beauty from ashes.
Perhaps those used-up sticks represent the only resolution I need this year. I tiptoe down the hallway. Grab my journal filled with scribbled prayers and wild wishes and I make a plan, my only plan for 2012. This year, I will give the Creator full access to my sin-charred soul. And I will trust Him to re-create me, one burned-out dream at a time. For His glory and His glory alone.
The Overflow: “You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created and have their being.” -Revelation 4:11
I love it, Alicia. Yes! I am with you here. Leaving room for Him to lead me. So good!
I love you Alicia!
Your words are like music!
We miss your whole family!
Love letters are about to be sent out…I have to go to the post office this time! :)…it’s a bit tougher for this mom!
Beautifully written, my friend.
Love you!
Robin