There are a few times of the year where I naturally get super reflective about life. One of those times is on or around my birthday every year. It’s usually the time of year where I pull out the journal that I started writing in last year (that made it until about December, because I’m just that inconsistent), and then where I open up a fresh journal to try again for another year.
This is hard this year. Because, looking back, I can see all of the hopes and dreams that I held for this past year:
October 19, 2015
So, what’s in store for thirty one? Where do I stand and what do I hope for in this next year? What do I long for and pray for as the page turns into another year of adventures?
While I certainly hope that the intentionality and friendship of thirty carry into the coming year, I have a real longing in my heart for this to be a year of family–particularly as Scott and I have begun the journey of trying to start a family of our own. This is a recent development in our life together over just the past few months, and I’m finding it to be a very emotional journey for me… so, I am thankful for some very dear friends to walk with, process with, and pray with for this next season of life.
I would love nothing more than to become parents in the course of the next year, if that is in God’s plan and will for us.
We shall see.
In the meantime, I look forward to a year that will write itself in memories and friendships and adventures beyond anything I can dream up tonight.
Well, obviously this past year didn’t turn out as I had hoped. As we had hoped.
I’ve spent a lot of time this morning reading through the journal I started last year on this date. The outside of it is labeled #31derful. Ha! How presumptuous of me.
Oh, and you want to know what date I last wrote in that journal?
December 9, 2015. The day I found out I was pregnant with Alexander.
I didn’t write anything throughout my pregnancy. I didn’t write about the first ultrasound or about finding out that he was a boy or about feeling the first kicks or about the all day sickness or about throwing up at Joe’s Crab Shack. I didn’t write anything about all those happy moments. I didn’t write about picking out the perfect nursery theme or about the two beautiful baby showers where we got to celebrate with family and friends. I didn’t write about any of those things.
And now, I sit here a year later, looking back on a year that included such intense joy and also three of the shittiest months of my entire life. I sit here a year later wondering what the next year will look like. But this time I’m not hopeful. At least not today. This year, I’m terrified. I’m scared to put my hopes and dreams into writing for fear that they will just be shattered again.
So, today, instead of looking ahead at the next year, I’m just going to look ahead at the next day. Because sometimes you just have to take things one day at a time. One hour at a time. One minute at a time.
Grief does that.
Broken dreams do that.
Just do the next right thing. The next precise thing. The next step forward.