Resolutions, Reality, and Resilience
It's that time of year where most of us are making some kind of resolution to exercise more, eat more healthily, pursue our personal goals instead of just talking about them, etc. I'm not resolving to exercise more, being completely content to keep running and leave all other kinds of exercise to the cool people (Crossfitters, I'm looking at you). Healthy eating is not on my radar (don't worry, carbs, I ain't quitting you!). And as to personal goals, well... it's hard to set personal goals when your entire way of life has just shifted. And I don't mean that in a bad way, just in a "still getting my feet under me in addition to my usual crazy of five kids so I don't think the next great American novel needs to be in the works at least until I figure out how to empty the poo tanks" kind of way.
The Man and I did sit down and rough out some general directions in which to head our family, but a lot of what I found myself talking about was my desire to pursue hope while we are here. We are one week shy of the hurricane's three month mark, and there has been progress made (probably far more than I even realize), but the devastation is still unimaginable. The kids and I have been driving around the area in awe at the power of the storm and how far we still have to go. And yet: we can see the piles of debris already collected, the mounds of wood chips from trees that have already been mulched, the many buildings and businesses that have already reopened for business. We can take note of the physical measure of how far we have gone.
My goal is to keep my eyes open. I want to see the truth of what happened, of course--and not just slap some happy on it--and I also want to see the progress that is being made--and rejoice in that--but I also want to see the beauty, right here, right now. I want to see the beauty and allow that to propel me towards hope. As we drove around base today, I kept seeing signs that at the top read "I am thankful for..." followed by a blank space and then simply the word "Resilient." Airmen had filled in the blanks. "Family and friends." "Good neighbors." "Hot showers." "Phone service." "A hot meal." "Fresh air." "A dry bed." This is what I am talking about. Looking for the beauty in our immediate circumstances allows us to continue in hope, which is the heart of resilience.
We look around and ask ourselves, "Is this our new reality?" And the only answer is, "Yes, it is." And we can follow that with discouragement and depression or with gratitude and joy. We get to be here. We get to beautify something broken. We get to say thank you in the face of tragedy. We get to look for the little joys (a water view, fewer things to clean, friends who have our backs). We get to step out of our comfort zones (although, I'm not going to lie, this RV is pretty cushy). We get to look for hope when things still seem hopeless. And that is enough of a New Year's resolution for me.
May we open our eyes to marvel at the good God gives, even when, on the surface, life can seem pretty bleak. This is our new reality, and the hope we have makes it beautiful.
The Man and I did sit down and rough out some general directions in which to head our family, but a lot of what I found myself talking about was my desire to pursue hope while we are here. We are one week shy of the hurricane's three month mark, and there has been progress made (probably far more than I even realize), but the devastation is still unimaginable. The kids and I have been driving around the area in awe at the power of the storm and how far we still have to go. And yet: we can see the piles of debris already collected, the mounds of wood chips from trees that have already been mulched, the many buildings and businesses that have already reopened for business. We can take note of the physical measure of how far we have gone.
We look around and ask ourselves, "Is this our new reality?" And the only answer is, "Yes, it is." And we can follow that with discouragement and depression or with gratitude and joy. We get to be here. We get to beautify something broken. We get to say thank you in the face of tragedy. We get to look for the little joys (a water view, fewer things to clean, friends who have our backs). We get to step out of our comfort zones (although, I'm not going to lie, this RV is pretty cushy). We get to look for hope when things still seem hopeless. And that is enough of a New Year's resolution for me.
May we open our eyes to marvel at the good God gives, even when, on the surface, life can seem pretty bleak. This is our new reality, and the hope we have makes it beautiful.
