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Dear 2019

Another year come, another year gone. Another New Year’s Eve waiting, with glitter painted on my eyelids and confetti lining the floors. Waiting for the countdown to end. Waiting for the clock to turn. Waiting for a new day.

And finally, 2018 will be gone. Finally. Finally. As the time continues to inch forward, so does my hope. My yearning for a new beginning.

2018, you have been a roller coaster. Full of twists, turns, corkscrews, drops, and scary tunnels. At times there were thrills, exciting and fresh. But mostly, there were stomach wrenching drops. Bumpy turns down dead-end tracks. Backwards movement. Frustration.

Dear 2019,

I have waited for you. I have waited for you for so long.

I don’t know when it began, exactly. Well, honestly I guess it was not too long after 2018 started. I went into 2018 much differently than I feel approaching your existence. There was a hope that encompassed my soul. Took over my whole body. There was a genuine sense of excitement to take on whatever was in store for me.

This year though, 2019, I am hesitant.

I am cautious and slightly fearful, although I know I shouldn’t be.

The truth is, I know that it can’t be all rainbows and butterflies. And I don’t expect it to be. But I hold many more scars than I used to- all a result of the butchering knife of years past.

So please, please be gentle with me. Please hold my hand slightly tighter, reminding me of the cliffs I should stay away from. Please guide me gently, reassuring me of the times I broke, but mended eventually. Please, please point my chin upward, toward the light. Any light. Please, just find me some light.

Bring me to my knees every morning, closing my eyes and folding my hands. Speaking to the One who heals. Remind me to be thankful, to look at the little things, and hold them close to my heart. Open my eyes to danger lurking in my way, and impart me with wisdom to sway from its existence.

And please. Oh please, 2019. Be the operation behind my heart. Pump its blood. Remind it to beat again, amidst the bruises, cuts, scrapes, and scars. Show it who to cater to. Who to freely expose itself to. And please, more than anything, show it who to hide from. Who to protect its fragile state from.

Show me, 2019, how to help you pump my own heart. How to feed the vessels, how to meet its every need. Remind my teeth to gleam on their own terms. To show if they want to, and proudly.

Cleanse me, 2019, and remind my flesh it deserves forgiveness. That it’s going to mess up.

But it’s going to be okay.

Walk with me, 2019. Be my feet. Keep them moving. Even if they want to stay in bed, in the dark, cooped up like that. No. Not anymore. Get them up, get them out. There is a life to live. Paths to explore. There is beauty in store.

Be my broom, 2019. Sweeping up the ashes, the fallen soot. It no longer lingers on the soles of my feet. On the hem of my jacket, the split ends of my hair.

Show me clarity. Remind me what it feels like to be alive. To truly embrace my existence.

Please. Even if you bring danger. Or twists. Or dark tunnels. Just hold my hand. Be gentle with me.

And remember. Remember that I am healing. That I am just learning to pump my own heart.

That my scars are still raw.

But they are not to be ashamed of.

They are to be used as strength.

Remind me, 2019, that I can just simply, be.

Remind me of He who is in me, not he who is in the world.




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