2013, when I think of you I think of hanging-on-to-the-edge-of-my-seat anxiety. I think of highschool graduation. I think of waiting and praying and hoping beyond all hope. I think of unspeakable joy and blessing. I think of a charter bus bringing my daddy home from the desert. I think of a new beginning. I think of friendships. I think of friendships that still have so much room in the soil to stretch their roots. I think of heartbreak. I think of learning and absorbing and teaching. I think of humbling. I think of teeth-gritting and perseverance. I think of trying hard and sitting back to rest. I think of rest. I think of peace.
2013, I didn't expect the things we went through to happen, and the things I thought would happen didn't necessarily.
What I know of you, 2013, is this: you came. You came, and you were a magnificent opportunity all dressed up in lights and confetti. I didn't know it fully then, but you wouldn't be so flashy all the while, just as 2014 won't be either. You had soft moments. Even some were fearful. Some were sad. Some were so joyful I just shook my head in disbelief.
People came, people went, and people came back during your stay, didn't they, 2013? And we learned that that is ok. We learned that it's good to move about and wiggle around because if you have no room to move, you have no room to grow. And we did quite a bit of growing, didn't we, 2013? We learned some good lessons, relearned others, and next year, I might just have to go over these again with 2014-- who knows?
I'll say it again: 2013, you were a wonderful opportunity. Every late night, every smile, every tear, every cup of coffee, every laugh, every ray of sunlight, every baby giggle, every hug, every conversation, every prayer, every song, every "I love you", every dream, every moment-- it was a pleasure. An honor, really.
Thank you, 2013. Your memories are cherished. May we only look back from 2014 to remember the good times, lessons learned, and places we met Jesus.
Onward, we go.