Monday, December 14, 2015

a letter for you in the midst of our epilogue.



Dear you,

We signed up for too much this month didn't we?

I thought I'd write about December as an epilogue and then smile. I thought it'd be words on a screen or three and then it'd pass over the door to my heart. I'm old enough to know better than that now, but I tried.

Epilogues are my favorite part of books. It's the part where the moral of the story is strengthened and driven home. It's the part that sneaks into your heart and echoes through your mind for months to come. It's the nail in the coffin -as my dad would say.

And so, I wrote that post with an attitude of accidental begging for December to rock us to our cores. I wrote it in wishful oblivion about the way months can grab you by the hair and dunk you under the wild waters of life. I wrote it from a hungry, desperate place.

You see, I wanted December to wrap up 2015 in a clean and fulfilling way. I wanted to tie a bow about this year and call it complete. But the new hope that is 2016 is pouring in now and the messy circumstance that has filled 2015 seems to stretch over onto the blank canvas of New Year's. But the two years -one old and mucky, the other new and bright- are muddled in my here and now.

I want to be angry, to try and clean the mess before any one sees. But I'm too tired for that fight. I'm too tired for the bleach and boxes and dust and heavy lifting involved in separating out what's been divinely brought together. So, I pretend all the things covering the floor of this sacred time and space are confetti. I look at the sparkles and mud and know beautiful fruits will grow from the Light and the dirt.

I throw up my hands in two fists and pump them above my head like this is a party for one. I sing rap songs to myself and shake my hips till I can't stand the swivels any more. I celebrate the epilogue in it's ever after effect.

Friends, we asked for this. Let's stop fighting and start celebrating.

Party on,
amber

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