Now the Year Is Over

 

Where I grew up, we often sang a hymn in church called "Now the Day Is Over," and it remains with me today, despite likely not having sung it since I moved away after college. I'll save my lament for the loss of older hymns for another time and simply say that I loved this hymn, always sung on Sunday evenings for obvious reasons. I loved the sense of peace it brought and the sense of order, acknowledging that God, the cosmic source of day and night, could be called upon in personal prayer.

It's a prayer for rest, for good sleep, for protection from temptation and evil, and a prayer for a holy beginning for the day to come.

It came to me when I was out walking earlier just as the sun began to set, and it strikes me as an appropriate hymn as we close out one calendar year and begin another, so I'll share the text here. Unfortunately, I cannot figure out with the new Blogger configuration how to format this as I would like to, so please bear with me.

Now the day is over, night is drawing nigh;

shadows of the evening steal across the sky.

Jesus, give the weary calm and sweet repose;

with your tend'rest blessing may my eyelids close.

Comfort ev'ry sufferer watching late in pain;

those who plan some evil, from their sin restrain.

When the morning wakens, then may I arise

pure and fresh and sinless, in your holy eyes.

New Year's is a time of big parties for lots of people. But for some of us, it's more often a time of reflection, being grateful, and choosing, maybe daring, to hope as we look forward.

This year, like last year, I'm certainly more inclined to a contemplative stance. The struggling and suffering of the past two years of pandemic combined with both pandemic "side effects" and the normal challenges of life, call for prayer more than for fireworks, it seems.

At the same time, we have a new year ahead of us, and every morning is a new day. We have the opportunity to "arise pure and fresh and sinless" in the holy eyes of a God who cares so much for this world that He keeps the sun rising and setting, keeps healing the sick, keeps providing hope, keeps forgiving our sins, and keeps sustaining life and even overcoming death.

With a prayer for those who are suffering, and hope for all of us going forward, I do pray that 2022 will be a truly happy new year.

Relinquishment and Renewal

These are little gold cardboard stars that I bought for a birthday or something. I don't remember what. But a couple of years ago I thought they would be fun as Christmas decorations, and I hung them in a doorway with pieces of ribbon, so that to enter the dining room you passed under and through a curtain of stars. I thought it was lovely, but someone taller found it less than lovely and even somewhat annoying.

So last year, determined to keep the stars around, I realized there were exactly enough to go on every other pane of the living room window, giving us the look and feel of their golden starry presence without hitting anyone in the nose or messing up hair. So there they went again this year.

I love looking out and up at the blue sky, with giant trees in the background and stars in the foreground. There's just something joyful and of course meaningful about having them in that in-between position, so that stars become part of what you are looking through.

I'm writing this on New Year's Eve, not sure if I'll finish it tonight or tomorrow, but thinking back on 2017 and what has transpired. It kind of blows my mind that I've written only eight blog posts this year, which I see is second only to 2015, with only six posts. I thought that once I finished that degree, I would write more.

Obviously, that's not what happened. As I wrote a couple of posts ago, finding a new rhythm has been hard.

A few weeks ago I ran into writer friend Corey Latta at the bookstore. When he asked how I was doing, for whatever reason I skipped "fine" and said, "Honestly, I'm having a harder time than I thought I would since finishing that thesis and graduating. I thought I would have a lot of energy and be doing new things, but I'm having a hard time getting anything going." To my great relief he responded, "Oh, that is so normal. When did you graduate?" "Over six months ago! Not sure that's normal!" "Yes, that's normal. For so long you had that one thing that took all your time and focus, and it just takes a while to regain your energy and be able to focus on new things. It's normal for everyone post-doc."

I felt as if it had been a divine appointment, that running into him that day!

Anyway, in doing my David Allen-inspired retrospective this evening, I thought a lot about what word best sums up my 2017 experience. "Relinquishment" soon came to mind, and it hasn't yet been replaced by anything else, so for now I'm sticking with it.

It may seem like an odd word. Graduating is what most people would call an accomplishment, not a relinquishment. And of course I have a sense of great joy and satisfaction about finishing and defending that thesis and graduating. But it came only because of learning to relinquish the writing. To stop wanting to do more, or to perfect what was there. To come to a place of saying, "It's enough, and it's good enough, and I will let it go."

And then on our summer trip to Europe our bags were stolen, including my laptop, which meant I lost  4-5 years of photos, among other things. I'll probably write again about that, but for now I'll just say that I've had to surrender that, let it go. There's nothing I can do about it. Of course I didn't voluntarily give those photos up, but I've had to do the inner work of letting go of that.

And here at the end of the year, while of course I can't hold on to the year any more than anyone can, I'm doing the inner work of relinquishing the expectations I'd had for what I'd accomplish in the time since graduating. For months I had a sign up that said, "Write as you can, not as you can't." That advice first came to me in the form of "pray as you can, not as you can't." Now I've put a little sticky note over the first word, so I look up from time to time and see, "Live as you can, not as you can't."

Yesterday I heard an interview between Ken Myers and Michael Hanby. In discussing philosophical issues related to problems of technology, they made their way to a conversation found in C.S. Lewis's The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, where the children have encountered an Old Man who, they learn, is actually a retired star.

Of course they are astounded, this seems so strange.

"In our world," said Eustace, "a star is a huge ball of flaming gas."

Ramandu, the star, responds, "Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is, but only what it is made of."

And a bit later, "Aren't you a star any longer?" asked Lucy.

"I am a star at rest, my daughter," answered Ramandu. "When I set for the last time, decrepit and old beyond all that you can reckon, I was carried to this island. I am not so old now as I was then. Every morning a bird brings me a fire-berry from the valleys in the Sun, and each fire-berry takes away a little of my age. And when I have become as young as the child that was born yesterday, then I shall take my rising again (for we are at earth's eastern rim) and once more tread the great dance."

I'm no star, but this reading was so encouraging to me. I've had a full five months of rest since graduating and returning from a trip to Europe. I've had fire-berries brought to me in the form of visits with friends, long walks, more musical performances than I'd been able to take in over the past few years, even singing again with the Memphis Chamber Choir. My energy is being renewed. I trust my focus will return.

And also, when we think about the year we've just lived and all the things we're aware of having done, that is not what a year is, but only what it is made of. I have a feeling that in the bigger picture, it will turn out to have been much more than we can possibly realize.

Here's to 2018. Happy New Year!

Poem to Start the New Year

On my "someday-maybe" list is to read a book of poetry by Czeslaw Milosz. I only heard of him a few years ago, but what I've heard makes me want to know more.

Found this poem today and thought how, even though the middle lines might be different for each of us and would be for me, we can probably all "amen" the first line. And be grateful that the last lines are also true. (Unless we've really, really been stupid and gotten famous for it somehow.)

He wrote this the same year he won the Nobel Prize for literature.

Here's to wise choices in the New Year!

Account

The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.

Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,

Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,

Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle’s flame.

Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,

The little whisper which, though it is a warning, is ignored.

I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,

The time when I was among their adherents

Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.

But all of them would have one subject, desire,

If only my own—but no, not at all; alas,

I was driven because I wanted to be like others.

I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.

The history of my stupidity will not be written.

For one thing, it’s late. And the truth is laborious.

Twelfth Night

Well. My hope for blogging more often during the Christmas break did not materialize. Exhaustion from the schoolwork, time devoted to having guests, and getting the flu combined for a less-than-inspired-and-energetic self.

I'm better now, though. It's the last night of Christmas, and what's done is done, but there is a whole new year to look forward to. (Well, a whole new year minus four days, right?)

One blessing in being sick is being home at all times of the day. Which means getting to see things in a new light sometimes, quite literally.

And the other day I was able to take these pictures with the new camera my sweet husband gave me for Christmas.....Well!  I can't for the life of me get this Blogger program to let me get to my new photos! No idea what's going on.

But it will let me get to pictures already used on the blog. How strange.

I came across this one, from a post written four years ago, and I like it so much, I'll just put it here for now, along with some others from the next day's post. They aren't what I wanted to share, but they do have lovely light effects, which was what inspired the photos I'd hoped to share.

Seeing these has made me realize that we have unpacked boxes still since our move, as I haven't seen some of these objects since we came to this house.....Hmmm.....Motivation to do a bit more going through things! Who knows what lovely surprises I may find?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It hasn't been the most pleasant holiday season. I hope next year not to have schoolwork pushed right up to the last minute, and I hope not to get sick. I hope there won't be a blizzard to keep us from getting together with family. Even so, so many blessings have marked this time. Like having a professor willing to give me extra time on assignments. Having guests over once school was done, storm had passed, and before flu set in. Having a guest room to sleep in while sick, so that my violent coughing didn't make someone besides me--and beside me--lose sleep, as well. Having lots of extra reading time due to having to stay home while sick.

And the new camera! I do hope this blog issue will resolve itself soon, and then I'll share some new photos.

I've learned the value and wisdom of the old saying, "Lord willin' and the creek don't rise...." and it is only with that disclaimer that I dare to say that I hope to get back into a more frequent blogging routine in 2013.

A belated Happy New Year to my readers, and if you are so inclined, I'd love to hear from you about hopes you have for the new year, "Lord willin' and the creek don't rise."

And I hope for you many lovely surprises in this new year!