I write all of my appointments for the week in my daybook and turn the page to note the possible coffee date with my friend Michelle next week. But there is no new page because it’s the end of the year.
It’s the end of a year.
This hits me hard somehow, and I cringe a little.
So much good has happened this year.
So much sadness has filled my heart.
I have seen a mother lose a boy not even a year old, and parents lose ones they had not even named yet. I have seen a family face cancer with courage, and another one say goodbye with grace. I have come alongside a woman who moved from helplessness to strength, and one who found her soulmate. I have witnessed a child find a brand new mom who loves him fully and new parents discovering a level of joy they never knew was possible.
And as I look at the days of uncontrollable grief that turns into acceptance and strength, and the days of hope beyond what was thought possible, I can only stand in awe of God and declare “it is well with my soul.”
I have been privileged to love on the unlovable and realize I was no different than them. I have had the joy of listening intently to hundreds of stories. Some shattered my heart, and some filled it with pride for the human race. Others ripped it apart, while others still mended me softly.
At times, I have soared this year.
Soared with hope and a sense of contentment like never before. Soared as I realized that I was living my purposefully. Soared as I met new beautiful people. Soared with joy unexplainable and full of glory.
At times, I have lost my way this year.
Two surgeries did not yield the expected result. I found myself not knowing how to handle the disappointment, the awareness of my human frailty adding so much weight to it that I despaired. And despair had not been allowed in my vocabulary.
Until I discovered that it makes me more human, more understanding, more reachable, more needy for my Savior.
And as I soared and lost this year, I have turned the pages of my daybook week after week.
I am one year older now. My body feels it even though I don’t want it to, and I can’t quite figure out how to age gracefully. Yet I know that at the end of each day, at the end of each year, He is still the Potter and I am still the clay, and the clay knows how to yield to the Potter as He fulfills His purpose for it.
I take a deep breath and close the daybook that has no more pages in it.
God has more pages for me. Some in which I will soar, some in which I might not. But at the end of each one, I will stand in awe and conclude, “It is well with my soul.”