As I am typing this, it is late on the evening of New Year’s Day, 2023. And after the pain, sorrow, grief, heartbreak, and practically any other horrible word one could use to describe my 2022, a New Year sure sounds like a good idea to me. What could be better? New Year – New You; New Year - New Hope; New Year - New Dreams; New Year - New Beginning.
And New Year’s Eve is almost magical, isn’t it? It’s kind of like what happened in “Cinderella” – at the stroke of midnight, the terrible spell of the Old Year is broken, and all the pain and sorrows of that year are left behind. And, like a prisoner released from prison, you walk away from all of the old trouble and grief, and walk into all the wonderful things that the New Year has in store. Like Cinderella leaving behind all the abuse she had endured for so long, you step into the New Year singing, “I’ll make a brand new start of it”, right Frank?
Well, maybe that’s how it works for some people. Maybe that’s how it even worked for me back in the past. And, last night, there seemed to be some reason to hope that maybe it could happen again. In a turn-of-events that was highly unusual for my part of town, the amateur fireworks shooters actually gave up their expensive hobby shortly after midnight, perhaps because of the dense fog [what’s the point of “the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air” if nobody can see and admire it?], leaving the rare opportunity for a decent night’s sleep on New Year’s Eve. That had to be a good sign!
But, like probably most of you, I woke up this morning in the same world in which I had fallen asleep. Nothing had changed. The same old pain and grief was still there.
And yet, I wasn’t really upset. I hadn’t really believed that anything quite that magical, quite that “Cinderella-esque”, was actually going to happen with the mere turning of the calendar page. No, my sights this year were actually set much lower, my hope for the New Year was much less than that. I was really only looking for, hoping for, longing for something far simpler, something far easier. All I wanted was for the hits to stop. That’s it. That’s not too much to ask for, is it? Just make it stop.
But before I even left for church on New Year’s Day morning, the news came in that one of the friends we had grown up with in the church Youth Group back home had suddenly and unexpectedly died in her home. Lindy was a wife and mother and grandmother, she was an incredibly successful business woman, and she was a member of the Board of Trustees for Harding University. An amazing in-every-way woman, younger than me, gone in an instant.
And the hits just keep on coming. I guess it was too much to ask for after all.
But wait. How can that be? In case You’ve forgotten, God, let me remind You of Your own words: “Is anything too hard for Me?” That’s Jeremiah 32:27. Remember? Well, do You? Was my little hope, was my little dream just too much for You? Why are You letting this happen?
For those of you reading along, if you’re thinking, “Dude; chill out. At least this time it wasn’t a direct family member”, I get it. And if you’re thinking, “Come on - big picture; get some perspective”, I get that too. None of that is making any difference in my head right now. If you’re thinking you don’t want to be standing too close to me when the lightning bolt comes, I don’t blame you; you’re probably wise to keep your distance.
And if you’re thinking, “Whatever you do, don’t hit ‘send’; you’ll regret it in the morning”, hell, I regret it already. I regret everything. It’s just that I promised you when I started writing these articles, that I would be honest about my feelings here, on paper, even when I couldn’t be honest anywhere else. And what you’re seeing today is a part of the chaos in my mind right now.
I wonder if this is kind of how John The Baptist felt when he was sitting in the prison he would not leave alive, and he sent a question to his RELATIVE Jesus [yes, THAT Jesus], asking, “Are You really the One we’ve been waiting for?” John The Baptist, the man whom Jesus said was the prophet Elijah returned, the man who had pointed at Jesus and said, “Behold, The Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world”, was now sitting in prison, simply for speaking the truth to power. He was clearly in despair and desperation. And, I believe, he was also angry. Surely I am not the only one who can read between the lines of his question to Jesus and see that what he is really asking is - “How CAN you be the One we’ve been waiting for when all of this is happening to me? If you were the One, you could make it stop. Do you even care?” If a man as spiritual as John The Baptist can go there, what chance does somebody like me have to avoid it?
I wonder if Lindy’s family will be going to such dark places in their grief – places I have been this past year, places I sometimes return to?
It’s almost midnight on New Year’s Day now. I’m exhausted, and my head hurts, and my sinuses hurt, and my heart hurts, and I’m cold. I guess He’s not going to answer my questions. I give up. I’m going to bed. And maybe I’ll feel better and differently about everything in the morning, though I’m sure I won’t be any wiser, and I know I still won’t understand any of this. There’s been no reply to my questions; there’s been no sound to break the stillness of the night – just the clicking of the keys. Oh, and the sound of my breathing – if that’s supposed to mean anything.
It’s been one day, just one short, measly day into the New Year, and my simple little hope and dream for the New Year has already crumbled and blown away like “dust in the wind”. If that’s what’s happened to my little hope and dream, where does that leave all of my big and beautiful and wonderful hopes and dreams for the New Year?
Maybe next year?
Ambrose Ramsey | Pastor and Shepherd
