Wednesday, December 2, 2015

the post script: a promise in the epilogue


December always functions as a month of surreal sparkles and rowdy family gatherings to cap off my year. It's as though November 30 is, in fact, the end of 2015 and until January 1st, I remain in a suspended period of pine-smelling wait. It's blessed, this month of wide-eyed wonder, but it's exhausting too. It's hustle and bustle and rushing to and fro.

I realize that in the quick pace of this season, I start to tally my year now. I find myself marking down the big pieces I can't dare forget and the small details I want to store away for later days. It looks like a list of dates and counts, but December turns into a tally.

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December marks six months of shop ownership. It marks six months of breathing life into a new dream and enjoying every moment of it. It's marked by a survival through my first launch season and a deep-seated confidence in my talent.

December marks three years since he left our home. It marks three years since the painful day that dementia was too large for us. It marks another year of suffering alongside him. It marks yet another period of waiting complete. It's been three years of learning about His presence and it's quiet solitude. Three years of begging Him to welcome dad home.

December marks our ninth month of trying to be more than Mr. Thomas and me. It marks wild joy for the friends who are expecting, deep love for the babes we get to call family, and a mild fear that we won't have the chance. It's been nine months of learning to wait on His promises. Nine months of begging for a bundle of joy to grow inside of me.

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But this year, I've embraced December as an epilogue. December will function as the Post Script to a year that's rocked my soul and deepened my person.

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I wanted this December to hold the magic, the happy ending, the beautiful ever after. I wanted to come to this December believing that He will pull together all circumstance in my favor. I wanted to know 2016 would start without tarnish, it would breathe crisp, fresh air into my life, overflowing with promise.

But this year, December functions as an epilogue, reminding me that His greatest gift started as a tiny babe born in the depths of night. This epilogue holds the wildest, boldest form of hope -begging me to watch those tiny buds growing in the soil of my soul. those buds will grow, just like that babe did. They will grow and offer life, just like the babe.

And so, I lean into December and all the promises it holds. I lean into the Advent season, marvel in the way He's provided over and over again, and write out the way He will do the same for me. I know He's made the promises to me, pinky-swear and all. He's poured out promises of peace, of wisdom, of newness, of healing, of good.

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I bask in the hope written on 2015's final pages. His hope.

I bask in the way it's overwhelming, overflowing, all-consuming. And I find myself entrenched in these last thirty days, chewing on the inside of my cheek while I work desperately to glean the wisdom knitted into their depths.

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