The end of another year means it is due time for cheesy reflections and well intended resolutions. December 31 brings an opportunity for closure; for internalizing lessons learned and reminiscing on memories made. These past twelve months have me looking back and remembering moments of both overwhelming joy and crushing sadness.
A lot changed for me in 2016. I swallowed overwhelming nerves, packed my life in one suitcase and got on a plane bound for England. I spent an unreal semester living in York, breathing in chocolate-scented air and living my own personal fairy tale. I ran my fingers along medieval walls and stood where Constantine was crowned emperor. I nestled into the nooks of my favorite cathedral and listened to the choir practice for evensong. I learned to navigate foreign train systems, hiked to a fjord and ate copious amounts of gelato.
I found a church that felt like home. I made lifelong friendships over curry and carrot cake; across tables full of lattes, fresh flowers and pancakes. I got swept off my feet, only to be knocked back down again by harsh reality.
Those five months changed me in more ways than I ever anticipated. Not a day goes by that I do not dearly long for York, wishing for the adventure that was building a life in England.
But life back home in the States was not about to stay frozen in time either. My baby sister started college, my cousin braved middle school and my grandparents moved out of their home of 20 years. Reverse culture shock hit me hard and I had to navigate readjustment, broken relationships and tragedy.
I will never forget the summer night my family learned of the cancer diagnosis. Our hearts collectively shattered as we sat around the kitchen table, letting the grief hit us in waves. I fixated my eyes on the pattern of the tablecloth, let the shapes blur and my tears fall. We picked up and sorted through a move; selling the things that once filled a house and made up a life. We had tough conversations and gave long hugs. We said goodbye.
And we found joy in the presence of family and the hope that this is not all there is. Loss is not the end of our story.
I learned who was willing to travel across the country to give me a hug, and who cannot seem to remember to pick up the phone. I experienced the comfort found in leaning on family when the world turns upside down. I conquered tough classes and found new music that I love. I went on road trips and laughed until my abs hurt. I declared a major and moved into a house. I ate dozens of donuts, drank tea, wore cashmere socks and bought myself sunflowers. There were bright spots to be found even in the darkest days.
This has been a year of full reliance on God, derived from the realization that I am completely powerless to salvage wrecked relationships, to rewind time or to stop cancer. My hope in the Gospel became so much more real as I held onto faith while other aspects of my life crumbled around me.
There have been beautiful beginnings in the midst of deeply painful moments. Stories are still being told, children are returning home and blankets of snow are falling to quiet the world. God will not be silenced by my insistence upon wishing my life were different. He gives me gifts in the spot He has chosen for me in this moment in time.
As another year comes to a close, no matter what has changed, take a moment to reflect on the ways God has shaped you in these past twelve months. Some lessons of my year have been blatantly obvious, others almost imperceptible, but learning to keep my eyes peeled for God’s hand in everything has undoubtedly been the most valuable takeaway from an eventful year.
