a dare for you

You hungered for this new year, didn't you? A new start was what you most wanted.

Fresh possibilities and easier days are what you hope for. Less pain.

You had a rough last year, didn't you? Last year was ugly and mean like those junior high school days that you always wanted to hide away. You've been hoping for happy and peace, yet the walls in your home are pin-drop quiet while the walls in your heart blare loud and angry. 

Life still hurts and you still ache. 

This year will be different, you declare.

You need last year's to be revoked. 

And if not last year's, you're still thinking of that other year. The one that still follows you and haunts you, and that makes you pray let this year not be like that one. 

Most of us usually have at least one of those year's: the Daddy-make-it-go-away! kind of year's. 

     . . . like children with the covers pulled over the head waiting for the monster to go away. 

The start of this year is hoping and praying there will be happy and peace and no ugly monsters, please.

Last year has value, though. 

As much as you want to erase it away, I dare you to consider that it matters. 

I dare you to take those hard memories and hurt and hold them tight. 

I believe beauty can and will bloom, right here in your holding -- like when most days you wondered whether your child would ever ever again want you to come near, and then she eventually does . . . in the ugly puke-filled days. 

     There's treasure here, in the holding and having. 

You might not see it or stomach it, but there really is. The miracle is in loosening your grip on fear and saying "okay" to what has been and choosing not to bury it or box it up. 

You can't change the past. But what you can do is help set into motion Peace. 

So, I dare you to count that year that pains you as a gift. 

     . . . and then tell {me, please} of the beauty I'm certain you'll soon see!

this is your worship.