Last year was a good year. A hard year, yes - but hard is often good when there's growth to gain and i do feel like i've grown.
i took my parent's divorce really, really hard. i lost a precious relationship. i lost a tiny baby... And then a myriad of insignificant struggles that just added to the weariness of the continuation of the journey.
And a lot of the year i felt like i was in a sandstorm. Just little bits of things flying in my face, taking out pieces of exposed flesh and making me cover my eyes and face, trying to protect myself.
It made for less blogging - more clinging.
i was talking to my friend the other day - it seems to me, she has been in a bit of a sandstorm this year too - and i said, "Do you ever just want to say to God, 'Hey, i already learned this bit, remember? i've got that one covered - you didn't need to take again to show me, i didn't need this pain to teach me... i had it already - this sorrow is a bit of a pointless sorrow, isn't it, Father?'"
And my friend kind of sighed a bit in recognition of that questioning emotion, but then spoke a deeper, less arrogant truth...
"It reminds me how desperately i need Him. It reminds me how utterly broken, unable and prone to sin i am."
And i know it's so - but it took a few more days for it to really sink in for me.
We were in church - and the youth leading worship sang the song, This is the Air i Breathe...
And i couldn't get out the first word.
Oh, sustaining Air i breathe, Daily Bread, One who rescues me in desperation... Only a year like that; with a constant sandstorm - could so beautifully illustrate my minute by minute need for my Saviour.
i opened my mouth to sing the second verse, but no sound came out and i gave up, sank to my seat, and acknowledged that without Him... i'm bankrupt.
Almost feels like a corner turned with this Christmas season... A season of painful anniversaries was over - and i kept repeating to myself the truths that i had uncovered in the dark year - even when they didn't feel like the truth.
i welcomed the New Year with a sigh of relief and joy; with a deep, profound sweetness that comes from knowing i love - and i'm loved too.
And so i'll learn it again, if you choose to teach it again, Father. i'll be reminded over and over of my brokenness and how desperately i need you. And when you bring me into the sandstorm, i'll remember to go back again and again to my source - my sustenance...
the air i breathe.