sliver.

I peeled myself out of bed quite early this morning. My body in complete protest as my feet touched the cool, tile floor. As I gathered my library of books and journals, my mind screamed expletives with every step I made for my door. My heart { and the promise of coffee } was the only thing that compelled me forward.

I needed to feel hopeful. I needed to witness beauty. I needed to be reminded of Love. And at this particular moment in time, a sunrise was exactly what my soul was craving. So I stumbled on through the early morning darkness to park myself in a chair that would face towards the light rising over the horizon.

It wasn't the most beautiful of sunrises. Clouds are covering most of the sky, making for a rather hazy morning. But right above the skyline, there lies my sliver of hope. Light bursting through this one tiny opening of clouds, as if the Hands of a Maker cut open this little piece of an otherwise dreary canvas to pour out His beauty. It wasn't what I thought it would be. Yet, my heart still settled into the quiet whispers of hope with a satisfying sigh.

That's the thing about sunrises, isn't it? Even on the mornings where they seem hidden, you still can see the evidence of their existence everywhere. The birds chirping their hopeful, morning songs. The day waking up to soft, hopeful lighting. The hopeful stillness of the quiet that settles all around and within.

And in a time of my life where my heart feels like it is just now waking up - this is exactly what I needed. A subtle sliver of Hope that settles on the edge of the earth and all around the edges of my soul.

It feels like holy, hopeful ground.

invite.

It's only been fourteen days and already I want to give up. Fourteen days since "a fresh start!" - "a new year!" - "a blank slate!" There really is something so exciting about the turning over of a new year. But sometimes I wonder if I put too much pressure on things to be different. As if an automatic equation forms in my mind: a different year = different circumstances = different me. But what if a different year is simply just that. A mere number changed on the calendar for the next three hundred and sixty-five days... and somehow I still find the same me in the same circumstances. Only now slightly more disappointed because the fresh start/new year/blank state isn't working out quite how I'd hoped.

I have a deep-rooted love in theming my years. I'm three years into this little trend and it has truly been helpful to look back and see the grace-filled little trail of hope threading it's way through each year. Light. Hesed. And now: Invite.

Invite has multiple facets to it but one in particular is the idea of inviting Jesus into my everyday { and not-so everyday } circumstances, feelings, relationships, decisions, ministry, vision - by simply being and listening to what He has to say. I'm a really good surrenderer. I find it extremely easy to throw up my hands in defeat, asking God to take whatever it is that has me in a tizzy. Then walking away. But when I do this, I wind up walking away from God and not to Him. I end up walking towards distractions and numbness and solutions and I. Miss. Out.

I miss out on the realness that comes from raw, deep emotions. I miss out on the connection that comes from being true to my heart. I miss out on the growth that comes from leaning into the process. I miss out on the healing that comes from bearing my soul. I miss out on what Jesus might want to share with me...all because I make this huge, impossible leap from shallow and easy surrender to practical and measurable solution.

So here I am - fourteen days into twenty seventeen - and I'm already trying to figure out how to get to the solution. Because as it turns out, it may be a new year but I'm still me. My circumstances haven't automatically changed just because a number on the calendar jumped from sixteen to seventeen.

But I don’t want to miss out. I don’t want to give up. I want to feel the fullness of all the experiences and processes and growing this year might bring - no matter the circumstances I find myself in or the heavy emotions that come along with the process. To be honest, I really hate the process. I always have. A quick fix is my jam and it is hard to imagine giving that up. But it's what comes after the process - the life changing revelation, the deep soul cleansing, the new way of thinking, the stronger connection to my emotions and heart, the becoming of the person God created me to be…these are the things that make the process worth it. 

This year, I want to learn how to invite the process. To invite Jesus. To invite vulnerability. To invite patience. To invite soul rest. Because with out it, I live in a world were I simply exist rather than live. Oscar Wilde wrote: "To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." In these words live my anthem for the year. Inviting real living rather then just existing. Here’s to you, 2017 - and all the crazy, joyful, wild, heart-wrenching moments I’m sure you will bring with you.