This year, 2016, was the year to celebrate, and celebrate we did. From lots of travel (for us), my 40th birthday, our 20th anniversary, and so much more, we celebrated at every opportunity. It was a needed discipline, to think more about celebrating the big things, but also the everyday things.
I’ve been thinking about my one word for 2017, but I don’t have one yet. After two years of very specific words that I felt were handed to me with very specific implications, it seems I am starting the new year a bit behind. I’m trying to be okay with that, and that’s a lesson in itself.
I know some things I want more of, although I wouldn’t call these resolutions. I want more time to be creative, not just in the ways I want – such as writing and cooking – but also in the unexpected ways that God provides. I want to be mindful as opportunities present themselves, and wise enough to know when to say yes and when to say no. As I move into my 40s, I want to become more gracious. I want to cultivate a home that values creativity, grace, and space to be who we are. I want to be more authentic in my relationships, and I want to continue to find and nurture friendships that bring out my best.
I also want to be intentional to develop relationships with people who are different – racially, socio-economically, religiously – and to learn from those friends. I want to be a safe place for people to ask questions about my lifestyle and beliefs.
I want to continue to be involved in my son’s school. Pouring into him is one of the greatest, long-term investments I can make.
I’d like to learn something new, although I’m not sure yet what that is. I want to read more, and spend less time on screens. I want to listen to good music. I want to make and eat good food.
On that note, I’ll end this year just as I did the last, with a section from Robert Farrar Capon’s The Supper of the Lamb.
I wish you well. May your table be graced with lovely women and good men. May you drink well enough to drown the envy of youth in the satisfactions of maturity. May your men wear their weight with pride, secure in the knowledge that they have at last become considerable. May they rejoice that they will never again be taken for callow, black-haired boys. And your women? Ah! Women are like cheese strudels. When first baked, they are crisp and fresh on the outside, but the filling is unsettled and indigestible; in age, the crust may not be so lovely, but the filling comes at last into its own. May you relish them indeed. May we all sit long enough for reserve to give way to ribaldry and for gallantry to grow upon us. May there be singing at our table before the night is done, and old, broad jokes to fling at the stars and tell them we are men.
We are great, my friend; we shall not be saved for trampling that greatness under foot … Come then; leap upon these mountains, skip upon these hills and heights of earth. The road to Heaven does not run from the world but through it. The longest Session of all is no discontinuation of these sessions here, but a lifting of them all by priestly love. It is a place for men, not ghosts—for the risen gorgeousness of the New Earth and for the glorious earthiness of the True Jerusalem.
Eat well then. Between our love and His Priesthoood, He makes all things new. Our Last Home will be home indeed.
Happy new year, friends. May 2017 be the best yet.