My good friend, Jan Morrill, likes New Year’s resolutions. I love the woman dearly, but I don’t see the point. Many of my friends mentally hold up goals or wishes, offer these desires to the universe this time of year. Light candles and release balloons. I love these woman like sisters, but this is not my way.
I wake each morning and do the best I can for that day. Sometimes the bar is higher than others. There are days when just getting out of bed and not doing harm is the best I can do from dawn to dusk. There are days when I have a list a tablet long and check each one off in productive joy.
And, no, I’m not bi-polar.
What I am is either chronically depressed, or a realist. It depends who you ask, depends where you stand.
I do my best each day with no expectation of results. None. My goal is to trust God to provide what I most need.
I have goals. Of course I do. But I have almost no control over whether they are realized. I do my best. The rest is out of my hands.
And those goals don’t change or even intensify just because the calendar says we have a new year.
Sometimes I work and work and nothing comes of my plans and time and energy. At least nothing I can recognize as a result of the work.
Other times, I seem to stumble upon good luck and what I’m tempted to call blessings. I say tempted because, it’s all blessing. Even those results that wound and knock me to my knees.
God’s plan is not always my plan. Okay, I’ll be honest. God’s plan is rarely my plan. But it’s nonetheless, God’s plan.
May your internal fighter always get back up, accept that what looks like defeat may well be only an unexpected fork in the road. Keep slugging. Follow the advice of the psalmist and my friend, Linda C Apple, relax, stop struggling, Be still and know that I am God.