Resolutions

I don’t know about you, but I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolutions. They’re almost a joke. Nearly everyone makes them, but very few follow through. Maybe they should be called New Year’s Intentions. We intend to make changes, but we rarely have the fortitude to stick with it. But we try, because a new year seems like a great time for a fresh start. We are filled with hope. We are inspired by the thoughts of renewal. Christmas isn’t the only religious holiday. God is in all things, especially the business of renewal. And God is the author of hope.

On New Year’s Eve, I got a mailer from Weight Watchers because they know that this time of year everyone vows to lose weight. It’s a universal thing. People decide to start exercising, to drop 20 (or 30 or 40) pounds, to drink more water. There are other resolutions – to stop smoking, to stop spending money, to stop drinking. But mostly, we focus on earthly things, battles of the flesh that we need to overcome. We always start with hope that we can finally conquer these issues. This will be the year! But the problem is we’re focusing on the flesh, not on the spirit. Each of these items has a spiritual parallel, so maybe that’s where we should begin.

Are we carrying around too much weight? It’s not just an extra 20 pounds that makes us unhealthy. It’s the excess baggage. The resentment that festers and damages our hearts. The hatred. The judgment. The fear. All the ugliness that holds us hostage, keeps us in bondage, and breeds even more fear. Maybe the most important weight to lose is that. And maybe, once our spirits are right, our bodies will follow suit. After all, we will no longer eat out of desperation or loneliness or depression, because we will have allowed God to fill those holes. We need to take control of what we feed ourselves. Does it nurture us or simply temporarily fill an emptiness?

Going along with weight loss is exercise. It’s not enough to control what goes in; we also have to strengthen our hearts, lungs, muscles. In order to function in the way God designed them, our bodies need regular workouts. So do our spirits. Just like physical exercise, sometimes it is hard to get started. It hurts, because we’re not used to doing these things. We need to pray until it becomes natural. We need to expose ourselves to the Word until it becomes familiar. We need to make a concerted effort to work at it, and when it becomes easy, we need to step it up a notch and push ourselves even more.

Years ago, at a New Year’s Eve party, several of us declared our resolutions. Every one of us vowed to drink more water — it finally became a joke. But isn’t that what we all need? Not just any water, but living water. The water of eternal life. The water that finally quenches our thirsts, that finally satisfies. The water promised by Jesus. So this year, go ahead and make resolutions if you must. But maybe the best way to start is by drinking deeply in the Spirit. Then the rest will come.

Glorious, glorious fall

I’ve always loved fall. Maybe it’s because, as a redhead, those rich ambers and rusts and oranges and browns and greens are the colors I like to wear (and the accompanying cool air means it’s time to break out my jean jacket). Maybe it’s the way the light changes color this time of year, washing the world in its golden glow, shining through the patterns of colorful leaves, breathtaking in its beauty. Or maybe it’s because the colors are so vivid that they make my very soul ache.

My soul rejoices in the overwhelming coloration and the subtle variations of hue all around me. Do you realize that our Creator made this just for us? The endless splashes of color cloaking the trees, the grains, the ground as far as the eye can see. The almost unbearable richness of the saturation of color. The way the color seems almost alive as it shimmies in the wind and the landscape transforms almost before our eyes. The exuberance and extravagance of it leaves me breathless.

The leaves outside show what happens on the inside when God finds us. What once seemed pretty to us — the lush, uniform greenery of summer, the whiteness of the light — pales next to this transformation. When we are in the process of dying out to our old selves, of dying out to what the world would offer, we’ve never before been so beautiful to the Lord. The exquisite radiance of the leaves isn’t seen until they start to die. Do you know why it’s so beautiful? Because, instead of the end, it signals a renewal. This death must take place to allow for hope and expectancy and the ripeness of a new life — a life full of potential and joy. The leaves remind us that He is faithful in His promises. That He will change us, that we will be transformed into the beautiful things he meant us to be. That even in death we are not forsaken. That we are on this earth to bring beauty into the lives of others. That we can only be at our richest, most vivid, most joyful selves when we stop clinging to what used to sustain us. When we embrace the changes that are happening. When we let go of the security to which we cling and float on the very breath of God.