Limping Into The New Year

 The transition into a new year is often filled with so much hope and anticipation, isn't it? The feeling of entering into a fresh calendar with new goals, new dreams, new plans, and unexpected blessings and challenges is appealing to us. We like the idea of getting to start with a clean slate and begin anew. But sometimes, it seems like the baggage from the old year follows us into the new... we still have the same unresolved stuff and, while trying to be positive about the new year, there's still this weight we're carrying and the slate doesn't feel as clean as we wanted. 

That's how this New Years is for me. The last five to six months of 2024 were complicated and hard: three unanticipated deaths, two major relational disappointments, political tensions with family, some church drama, and a whole lot of needs involving people I know: sicknesses, treatments, surgeries, marital breakdowns, rejections, passings, and more. Laced in between all that were pregnancy announcements, engagements, and old friendships rekindled. The emotional rollercoaster has been an epic one, to say the least. And I'm finding myself feeling as though I'm limping my way into 2025. 

Don't get me wrong: I'm excited for what this year holds, and I truly believe that this year will hold much healing and hope for all of us. But the joy and expectation is tampered by the fact that there's been a ton of brokenness to wade through recently. While I'm thankful for the relatively good health and stability in my own immediate family, I've also been burdened by the seemingly continuous stream of prayer requests and pain. Life is hard. Beautiful, yes. But also very, very hard. And as a result, the recent holidays just felt more lonely and heavy than usual. 

But as I've thought about this, I've come to understand something profound. In the past, I always felt like there was something flawed in me if I wasn't running my life-race with the greatest of strength. Yet the years of walking with Jesus through deep sorrow and hurt have shown me the truth of that powerful little verse that says "...the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong..." (Ecclesiastes 9:11). Those who end up as God's greatest warriors are those who persevere - not those who beat everyone else to the finish line. The sign of someone's strength isn't that they've moved mountains with their faith or that they've outdone everybody else in some way... it's that they finished well. That they kept going. They they never quit. They continued to believe and trust even in the face of the greatest darkness. 

Even though you may be limping your way into this new year, the victory is that you're still moving. Even a slow pilgrim is still a journeying pilgrim. The pace is never what matters most.

I've had moments the last several weeks where I've grown frustrated with the fact that The Word doesn't reach me deeply right now, the worship doesn't resonate as usual, the problems seem to be larger than my fortitude. Yet into the fog of it all, as I keep treading the narrow way Jesus spoke of (Matthew 7:14), I hear a Voice on repeat, reminding me that the same Word I'm having difficulty swimming through all the stuff to get to is the very one that is "a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path" (Psalm 119:105). I recently heard someone point out something about this statement from the Psalmist-King: notice that it says that the light centers around one's feet? It's not lighting the whole road... only what's right in front you you. 

And suddenly, I can relax. I can breathe into the swirl of chaos that's been my life of late because He's only giving grace for the next step - the next right thing. Just as the ancient Hebrews received their daily manna in the wilderness, He is giving me what I need to keep moving forward. Each limp it's own victory. I don't have to running down the road of 2025 at full strength - I just need enough for today. Right now. This is where Grace so faithfully meets us where we're at. It doesn't wait for us to chase it; it comes straight to us. Like the prodigal's father ran to meet him "while he was yet afar off" (Luke 15:20), Grace enters into our space and offers its consolation exactly where we find ourselves. And here we discover what it means to walk with a Savior who is Emmanuel - God with us in the closest way. 

It's okay if this year isn't off to the start we all hoped for or wanted. Maybe the broken of last year is still following us for awhile and we've grown tired of the constant stream of bad news. We're desperate for the sign of anything good. But let us remember that even here, streams are formed in the wasteland. This wilderness won't last forever but His love will. And all He asks is that we just don't quit. Even if we're battered, bruised, and torn up from it all, the bravest thing we can ever do is to just keep going. Limp our way home, one shuffle at a time. Trust there will be light for that next step and keep reminding ourselves of the continuous presence of Him who has trod this road before.