Bits for Sunday, December 28, 2008

Four days left until the new year…and technically only three, since today is mostly gone. I’ve been busily prepping for 2009, something that probably only the uber-organized can truly appreciate. All the Christmas decorations have been packed away in their tubs, the gifts I received have all been granted permanent homes, I’m taking a break from cropping the photos that I am determined to have in an album by the end of the week, and when I am done writing, I’ll head to the day planner to scope out the rest of the week’s chores.

The new calendar is on the wall – with all the birthdays and anniversaries scribbled in pink. My new devotional book is in on the shelf, and I’m forcing myself to refrain from peeking ahead. I’ve reorganized the kitchen, the desk, and everything in the buffet. I’ve made a list of things I either need or want to do to the house this year. And of course…I have constructed the list for 2009.

Earlier tonight I was chatting with my sister, and I told her I about had the list completed, and she said “Please tell me it doesn’t have 25 things on it.” I had to laugh. Just because it has been…long…the last two years doesn’t mean it has to be this year, right? And it’s not. This year the theme is to simplify.

I’ve been reading Gloria Gaither’s book Something Beautiful. It contains the stories behind about 75 songs she and Bill have written. Being the rather shameless Gaither groupie that I am…I’m loving everything about this book.

Christmas night, as I found my focus shifting away from the excitement of the season and toward the preparation week before the new year, I read the chapter about the song Something Beautiful. I’m an underliner, and most of this chapter now sports a black line under each sentence.

Gloria tells of the time when their oldest daughter, Suzanne, was a little girl, and she sat down at the table to paint a picture. She worked hard but eventually the paper was soaked with water and paint, and a giant blob of black paint landed (accidentally) in the middle of the paper. She tried to work with it, but the painting just got worse. She found a washcloth and tried to soak up some of the paint and water, but only succeeded in rubbing a hole in the middle of the sheet. That was the end for poor Suzanne, and she ran crying to her mother.

Gloria went on to say, “So often we are like Suzanne and her painting. We start out with noble dreams and aspirations. We harbor high hopes and lofty ambitions…And at first we seem to be in control of our lives…But somehow…before we know it, we have passed our thirtieth birthdays and life is getting complicated. By forty we are beginning to realize that we’ve made some choices we regret, taken some turns we never thought we’d take…we try to fix it on our own, to cover what our hearts are telling us, but if the truth were known, we get up in the morning with a hole in our souls big enough to drive a Mack truck through. And in our rare honest moments we know we’re no closer to our hopes and dreams than we were at the start.” (p. 41)

After Suzanne’s cries had quieted, her mother suggested there might be another sheet of paper in the closet…and there was. Gloria gave her the paper and let her start over with a brand new painting.

She said, “…Jesus…doesn’t just patch up our lives. He doesn’t just ‘make do’ out of what we have left. He gives us a brand-new sheet, a clean state to start over with.” (p. 42)

To me, a new year is a new sheet of paper. An opportunity to recognize that though I may have made a mess, I’m being offered the chance to start again. A new year is more than an organized desk, an unopened book, and blank calendar squares. It’s a chance for a new outlook. New purpose. New priorities.

And as you take the newness of the year offered to you this week, I wish you the very best!