I’ve been seeking my Word for a month. I’d almost think I’d found it when, nope, just wasn’t right. I am so exhausted and done in; I am beyond overwhelmed. I’d been having an even rougher time than usual, feeling betrayed and abandoned even more than normal. I sat sobbing loudly, a snotty, drooling mess. I had been reading my dear friend Hillary Rain’s most recent missive. In it she says,
“I like to think of (birth)days as my very own New Year’s Day, and, in lieu of picking a word for my year, I decided to declare it My Year of Tender Mercies. It’s my year for softness and grace, for doing things differently, for giving myself permission, for all things new.
Already it’s shifted everything. It’s like my heart, body, spirit, home, and life have taken a collective exhale and pressed “restart.”
That’s when it happened.
I began to examine what my life would be like if I declared 2015 to be MY Year of Tender Mercies. What if I stopped fighting and pushing to leave here. Don’t get me wrong, I hate this apartment for lots of reasons, two of which are its darkness and the set of stairs I find too hard to navigate most days. But if I have 16 months, rather than a mere 4, is it the margin I need to choose decently and in order, wisely rather than desperately?
I am finding it difficult to submit to this new time of waiting, but I know that Jesus has not revealed anything. I have prayed, diligently, and He always answers; it could be Yes, No or Wait/Maybe. He orders my steps, He knows the paths that I take, and He certainly loves me more than anyone else. So I guess that 2015 will be MY Year of Tender Mercies.
“Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him” Job 13:15.