joy in january

When I looked out my dining room window to the north this morning, you know what caught my eye? 

Brown. 

That's it! Brown fences, brown lawns, brown, leafless trees, and mostly brown houses. Even my dog was brown. A droopy, dirty American flag swaying in the wind three houses down seemed to be the only color filling the scenery.

The sky was not brown, but it was gray, and the streets were empty and lifeless ... a mirror reflection of my soul.

For me, it's easy to approach January as "the dead month." Not only does all of creation seem to be dead, but the hype of Christmas has passed, year-end sales are but a memory, and life takes on a routine, mundane feeling. It all leaves me wondering, does Joy in January even exist?

It does, of course. And Ruth Harms Calkins sums up the root of the problem beautifully in her poem simply titled January:

It's January, Lord –

the drab, dreary middle –

and my thoughts

are as drab as the miserable month. 

Does everybody hit a January slump,

 or am I the only one?...

The first week wasn't too bad;

there were Christmas thank-yous to write...

a few resolutions to store away...

the huddle of year-end sales. 

But thank-you notes bring no returns,

and resolutions are quickly broken,

and marked-down trinkets fast lose appeal. 

When you said, "Behold, I make all things new,"

did you forget January, Lord? 

Or, in January, do I sometimes forget you?

I was seriously diggin' this poem, right up until that last line! You see, nothing has changed since Christmas ... except for my focus. 

Jesus is still the light of my salvation ... but I forgot. 

He is with me in times of trouble ... but I forgot. 

He will hear me in my time of need if I will humble myself and call on Him ... but I forgot. 

He has been and continues to be my help ... but I forgot. 

Will you come along side me and resolve to remember the Lord's promises through the month of January? 

Let's remember that He has always been and always will remain faithful. Let's remember His kindness toward us. Let's refuse to give in to our bleak, midwinter feelings, and simply remember Jesus and all He has accomplished, is accomplishing, and will accomplish for us. 

Has His mercy ceased forever?
         Has His promise failed forevermore?
Has God forgotten to be gracious?
         Has He in anger shut up His tender mercies?  Selah 
 And I said, “This is my anguish;
         But I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High.”
I will remember the works of the LORD;
         Surely I will remember Your wonders of old.
I will also meditate on all Your work,
         And talk of Your deeds.
Your way, O God, is in the sanctuary;
         Who is so great a God as our God?

~Psalm 77:8-13 (emphasis mine)

my first guest post

I'm so excited to be guest posting for Duane Scott today over at Scribing the Journey!! This is my first guest post everrrrrr, and I had a lot of fun putting it all together.

Hop on over and see for yourself - especially if you're hungry and cold!

repost - cuz i got nothin'

I'm kidding.

Not kidding that this is a repost, but I am kidding that I got nothin'. While I haven't been posting as lately, it's not because I have nothing to say (that would be a miracle!). In fact, if it's possible to have so much to say that you don't know what to say ... then that's where I'm at.

So, until I figure out how to say it, or at least post a lame but readable post, I'll simply repost. This will, in fact, be my first repost ever - and this blog just had its 4th anniversary on December 21st.

All that to say ... I don't feel guilty for reposting. ;)

I chose this particular post because I'm hungry for baseball to start up. Yep, every year after Christmas and New Years have passed, I'm eager for the cold and snow to fizzle, the sunshine to make its way out, and baseball to reappear on my tv and in my backyard. I want to see Tulowitzky scoop up a grounder and toss it to Helton. And I want to see Andrew pitch the much coveted no hitter!!

Until then .... we'll reflect back on an experience I had in the bleachers last season. Sigh ...

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The Gift Of Goosebumps 

Last night, I sat in my purple, frayed lawn chair as I watched Andrew pitch a seven inning game. The sun was out, the mountains in the background were unbelievably beautiful, and my son was having an awesome game. I didn't think it could get any better.

It was the first warm game of the season. But if you've ever experienced Colorado weather, you know it can change in a flash.

The weather remained calm, the wind kept its distance, and it seemed everyone was having the time of their lives. But then the sun went behind the mountains. It was still pleasant enough, and to most folks, it was a relief from the glaring sunshine.

But I shivered and slipped my fleece jacket on, and wondered if I'd eventually need the other three jackets or the wool blanket that I faithfully bring to each game. If the wind picked up, or clouds began to roll over the top of the mountains, I would eventually don each and every winter good I brought, and wish for more.

I continued watching the game.

"Who would have ever thought I should have brought a jacket?" I heard a shaky voice behind me say.

I turned to see an old lady sitting four bleachers up. I'd never seen her before. Later, I came to realize that she was likely our catcher's grandmother. She was quite thin, with stark white hair. Even though it was warm when she arrived, she wore a long sleeve sweat suit and tennis shoes.

I knew then that we possessed a common trait - the inability to stay warm.

I stole another glance at her. Her body was arched over, arms and legs crossed to keep the warmth in. Her smile was broad, revealing a road map of wrinkles as she watched her grandson catch my son's pitches.

I smiled too. But my smile quickly turned upside down and I felt a pang of guilt. After all, I was sitting comfortably with my jacket butttoned up to my neck, two jackets resting on the back of my chair, and a wool blanket under my toosh. Not to mention my husbands jacket lying on the ground next to me.

I'm too shy, I thought.

Chicken!

I ignored the accusation and went on watching the game. The wind picked up a bit. I shivered, and again I remembered the lady behind me.

I stole another glance at her.

Still hunched over. Still cold. Still smiling.

I couldn't stand it any longer. I hate being cold, and I knew it happened just as easily to her as it does to me. Everyone else seemed warm and comfortable. I was the only one who knew how she felt. And I was the only one who could help her.

I pryed my sorry, shy tooshy off the purple, tattered lawn chair, and grabbed a jacket that I was sure would completely cover her. I slowly made my way up the bleachers, trying to stay out of people's view of the game. I wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, and said, "I can't stand to see you over here shivering when I have all those jackets just sitting there waiting to be used."

I made sure the jacket was snug.

She smiled at me, and the lines in the map grew deeper.

"Thank you so much. I should have thought to bring something for myself."

"Well, you're new here," I assured her. "I've learned to come prepared, even when the weather is beautiful."

She seemed happy with that response, and even happier that she could sit and watch the game, goosebump free.

I, however, was not goosebump free - a gift given to me not by the weather, but by her pricelss look of gratefulness.

How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in your life you will have been all of these. ~George Washington Carver

You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson