It is the new year, and I have been so wrapped up in the gathering and the joy and the peace that is Christmas that I haven’t even taken the time to look forward.
Maybe it is the same for you.
Last night snow fell, blanketing the ground with white. I woke up, started the fire, and stood at the back door looking out at the blank canvas that is my little world.
There, high in the peach tree, perched two of our chickens. The golden one, and the clucking one. They won’t sleep in the coop with the others, they are determined to perch in the tree. I hear them complaining about the whiteness on the ground. They don’t know what to do with it. The mere presence of it had frightens them. They don’t dare leave the branch.
I walk back into the kitchen and open the pantry door, pull four slices from a fresh loaf of bread, put on my son’s size 15 shoes, and wander out into the yard in my pajamas.
They watch me come.
My feet leaving behind their print on the canvas.
My bright red whimsical pajama bottoms that are impossible to miss.
The promise of goodness in my hands.
I coax them down from the tree, under the eves of our home, with scattered pieces of bread.
Then I follow my footprints to the back door, leave the snow covered shoes there to dry, and settle in by the fire to get warm.
For the first time I let myself look forward, into what will be 2017, into the blank canvas that awaits.
And perhaps that is how this year will look, I thought to myself.
Perhaps I will enter into 2017 with shoes that seem impossible to fill, and whimsical attire that might not be appropriate for the occasion, and maybe all I have to offer is these two hands outstretched with goodness.
And what if that is what my story looks like this year?
Impossibilities, whimsy, and goodness.
There is magic in the possibility.
And what would your story look like if you entered the year with arms outstretched in goodness?