A New Year, A New Slate

  Am I the only woman on the planet that refuses to make resolutions? Mostly, because I forget. And I honestly can't keep them. Seriously, if I want to change something so badly, why wait till January 1st? Thus, my "New Slate" title isn't eluding to a resolution, but my transparent attempt to be a better me. Pretty much in every facet of my crazy life, if I'm being truthful. 

  I'm not kidding myself that I may have two people read this blog, one being an obligatory "mothers-in-law are too kind not to read it" reader. And being as honest as I can be, I'm so okay with that. This is more for me than anyone else. But hey, if someone else out there relates to my chaos, is inspired by something I may actually write with Jesus' help, or is pretty much over the stress and drama of everyday life, well so be it. I pray that may be the case for the two, still mysterious, readers who take time to read my ramblings.   

This past year has been a whirlwind with a nursing school graduation, a high school graduation and a wedding within three weeks of each other. Throw in a little jaunt to Africa and POOF!  This last month has been, by far, one of the most difficult journeys I've walked. I use the word "journey" because it implies that I'm still on it, haven't gotten to the end and usually there's contentment and peace when you cross the finish line. I lost my dad, my hero and cheerleader on December 12th at 10:05 am. I know that's specific. But there was something comforting about holding his hand the very second he stepped into heaven. I looked at the clock and thought, "Wow, he's really gone home." Grief ebbs and flows. There's really no predicting when it hits. No warning. No waving flag that it's about to start. My grief is selfish in many ways, but real nonetheless. Dad is dancing a jig, hanging out with old friends and sitting at Jesus' feet. I'd hate to admit that I want to deny him of something so cool. But I miss him. I cling to the promise that Jesus knows our suffering, is our rock and prince of peace. May I be transparent now? If I had it MY way, I'd still be chatting with dad. I'd be listening to his corny jokes and his WW2 stories. I'd pick up pizza and eat with my parents around a tiny table and tell them for the hundredth time that, "No, I don't want money for the pizza, dad." But MY way is not reality and certainly not best. I'll miss him, grieve over his passing and sometimes cry at very inappropriate times. But I'm human, that's  okay, right? I leave my "two" readers with this..."I (we) can do all things through Christ who strengthens me (us)."