The thought of being different a year from now fills me with equal parts excitement and anxiety. I know the work involved of becoming and growing and changing. It takes intentional effort on our end, or does it? Developing new habits, making a physical move to a new place, diligently rearranging our inner landscapes, creating space for spiritual encounters, shining revelations, and wading through hard and profound experiences with grit all possess the ability to make us different than we are today.
But are we kidding ourselves when we assume we can control our circumstances? Is it our independent spirit that fools us into thinking we have power?
To be clear, I don’t believe there’s any way I can remain the same at the end of these next 365 days. I will be different. I don’t even have to hope for that to happen.
For I am but a piece of land and life is the river beating against my jagged surfaces.
The river smooths out my pointed edges, wearing me down, eroding me into new shapes, revealing texture and hidden beauty and color, until I become territory through which the life-giving forces of the spirit can run free and unhindered.
Perhaps the work cut out for me to do this year is to receive the raging waters and let them carve me into a grand canyon.
When I look out across the breathtaking, steep-sided, raw and unrelenting piece of nature called my life, I can only fall to my knees and offer up the purest praise.
Surely there is no way this could be formed by human hands?
Grateful for the steady flow of days, months, and years that craft me into a masterpiece beyond my own making. I stand ready in the rushing river. A river swelling, swirling with delight and danger.
I agree to let life overtake and erode me until all that’s left is layered bands of fascinating rock, complex stories of love’s faithful, patient work, stories that shine and speak best under the glow of a hazy sun.
