2018: My Year of Refreshing

In a moment of candid honesty, I would confess that I have a love-hate relationship with New Year's Day.

I love the image of a blank slate, dusty from lessons learned, but empty and ready for the learning still to come. I always dread, however, the reflection upon the past year's achievements...or lack thereof.

From a Christian perspective, I am increasingly frustrated by the overuse of Isaiah 43:19 in reference to the New Year, as captured in the image below:

I'll let you in on a secret: God doesn't celebrate New Years. He doesn't wait for the calendar's permission to address you or your situation. How do I know? I read the verse below:

Imagine, if you will, what it's like to live in Heaven's time zone. The 2,018 calendar years marked off by mankind are little more than 2 days in Heaven. At the same time, every single day is like a thousand years to Him. If you are a parent, or have ever experienced a challenging day in the workplace, you understand the concept of the day that never seems to end.

So what about the days you realize you spent a whole year missing the mark? Resolutions weren't kept, goals weren't achieved, or perhaps it even seems you moved backward. What about those days? And the ones that seem to last forever, and for all the wrong reasons?

Sweet friend, God made provision for those days. Just because He lives outside of time as we know it doesn't mean He has no idea how this works: He designed the system! We break the system down into days, hours, minutes and seconds - but do we forget that seasons are part of the plan, too? Consider Acts 3:19, where we are told that times of refreshing will come from the presence of the Lord. (Some versions of the Bible translate the word "times" as "seasons"  - I love the imagery that word paints!)

This year, as I look at the 365 days just passed and the 365 days ahead, the word for my New Year was nearly audible to me: Refresh. Last year was good, and I learned a lot from living by the word "defined." I believe I am on the right track, but I need a season of refeshing before I set new goals.

As someone who works with computers daily, perhaps I can draw an analogy from them. When you press the "Reset" button on a computer, all programs will shut down and you will need to restart each one. I would consider our cross-country move five years ago as a "reset." which required us to restart everything: our home, our jobs, and even our friendships.

Pressing the "Refresh" button on a computer does something completely different: it simply reloads the program you are working in without whatever factor was slowing you down. A season of refreshing, then, as applied to life, means you are doing good work, but you have some things to get rid of. This ties in beautifully with Hebrews 12:1, which instructs us to "throw off everything that hinders..."

For me, some things that hinder include anger, guilt, and low self-esteem. The low self-esteem is directly connected to my troubles with weight management, which I have begun to correct. The guilt and anger are tied to what seems like a whole other lifetime, but they directly influence my weight management when I eat based on emotion. So although I'm doing the work, I need to "refresh" and throw away the issues that slow down the finished work. 

I will take this season to be made cool and clean. I will first be emptied of things that hinder, then filled with peace and purpose. I will practice seeing each day as fresh and every moment as re-fresh. Refresh. Re-fresh. Fresh, and fresh again. As many times as required, until the work is once again moving forward without hesitation. 

I do not expect this season to be easy. I will put in the work because I am excited to see the results. I look forward to feeling lighter, both physically and emotionally. Because life is a gift, and the Giver is good. 

A LIFE HIDDEN

I glanced briefly out the large, west window of our living room as I sank into my recliner. For at least the third time in recent days, I noted the flash of blue in the tree at the edge of our lawn. I love that tree, though how it came to grow there is still a mystery.

I grabbed a book, but couldn't seem to concentrate. Reaching for my phone, I scanned social media for updates from friends. Still unable to concentrate, and frustrated by the seemingly ridiculous obsession with the mysterious blue in the tree outside, I rose to investigate.

 Stepping down from our front deck, our walkway is hemmed in by large day lilies. A gift from a dear coworker several years ago, these lilies have really been a miraculous display this summer, given the drought we have experienced. Making a special effort to step over the lilies carefully, I note another unusual splash of color in one of the plants. I pause, bend over and snap a photo.

There, nestled in the life-giving shade of the lily, is a delicate stem of bellflower. I am baffled as to its origin, as my husband and I took great care to uproot our flowerbeds last year, replanting only bulbous varieties. This little beauty, though, has taken root - and refuge - in a place so protected, it has become fully mature before being noticed. Smiling at the absurdity of being outsmarted by a plant, I continue to the tree that is my reason for venturing into the scorching temperatures.

Peering into the heart of the young tree while parting some close-knit branches, I am in awe of the beautiful shock of color in front of me! There, clinging to the trunk of this tree nobody planted, is another mysterious flower in fuĺl bloom. Hidden in plain sight, protected from the burn of the sun, roots shaded in the dry soil held together mostly by the secure frame of a cinder block. 

As is often the case, I find myself singing the lyrics of an old song:
       Hide me behind the cross
       Where my gains become as loss
       And only Your glory is in view
       Your power will be revealed
       The more that I am concealed
       Hide me behind the cross
       So the world sees only You.

I wonder if I could be this: a life hidden. Could I take shelter under His wings, unnoticed until I, too, have matured? Could I grow in grace and beauty, clinging to Him for shelter and support?

 John 15:5 reads,  “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." (NIV) 
This is perhaps the most visual demonstration I have witnessed of a life hidden, clinging...and thriving. I am instantly stricken by the similarities between these plants and the life of Jesus. You see, we cut that tree down. Twice. We hadn't planted it, so we assumed it was an alder bush. On its third year of persistence to grow, I encouraged my husband to let it be for the summer. 

Jesus also arrived in this world unrecognized. We read in John 1:11, "He came to that which was His own, but His own people did not receive Him." Because He wasn't conceived (or planted) by earthly design, Jesus wasn't immediately recognized for who He really was. They tried cutting Him down, even to the point of death.

On its third season, this tree was granted life. On the third day, Jesus rose to live again. In two seasons of life, this tree that nobody planted has sprung to such vibrant life that it has become a shelter for other living things, like birds and wildflowers. Two centuries after His resurrection, Jesus - unrecognized, cut down and then risen - has ascended to the heavens and become a place of refuge for wild hearts such as mine! I am the life hidden. In Him.

I realize now that despite all my best intentions, I may have been praying the wrong prayer. It is not for me to ask that the world see Christ in me; rather, I pray that they must look twice to see me, hidden in Him.