Mary Ponders

Every year on Christmas Morning, before we open presents, our family reads the Christmas story from Luke.  I have my husband or children read it because if I do, I cry. I know.  Shocker.  As I get older, the story of Christ’s birth is more real to me than ever.  My heart swells knowing God sacrificed His baby for my sins.

Kissing the face of God

Luke 2:4-20

"And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:)  To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. 

And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. 

And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. 

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. 

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. 

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. 

And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, 

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. 

And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.

And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.

And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.

And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.

But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.

And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.”

The part that always gets me is “and Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.”

I love to share things.  I love to tell people when good things happen to me.  She just gave birth to the Son of God.  A bunch of shepherds came to see them in the middle of the night who were guided to their stable by angels.  She herself had been visited by an angel.  An angel had appeared to her husband.  Yet she held these tucked inside... to dwell on them.

I love the way The Message translation puts it: “Mary kept all these things to herself, holding them dear, deep within herself.”

Micayla and I, a long time ago

I have three children.  My oldest is 17, my son is 16, and my youngest daughter is 9.  When my daughter, Micayla, was born, 17 years ago, after everyone had left that day and I was alone with her, I sat in the bed with my knees pulled up.  I laid Micayla between them and just stared at her. In awe.  I felt so blessed that God had let me have a part in creating her.  I picked her features apart.  She had my eyes, my husbands lips, my mothers chin...it amazed me how God masterfully blended our family portraits in her.  

Did Mary do that?  After the shepherds left and Joseph fell asleep, did she pull her knees to her chest and lay Jesus between them and feel so blessed that God let her have a part in creating Him?  Did she pick His features apart?  Did He have her lips?  Her mothers chin?  Did she wonder where certain features came from? Did she wonder if His eyes were like His heavenly Father’s?  Perhaps something that was tucked away in her heart was knowing the sole purpose of her son’s birth was for Him to die.  To die for her sins.

As she gazed at her son and stowed these things in her heart, she knew the last 9 months prophesies had been fulfilled.  And more were coming.  But this night...she treasured snuggling the downy face of God.

Dancing Birds

Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; and let them say among the nations, "The Lord reigns."-1 Chronicles 16:31

Straight ahead of me, against a clear blue sky, a small gray cloud was hanging above a busy intersection. I wondered, What was that lonely cloud doing there on such a perfect afternoon?

As if hearing my thoughts, the cloud suddenly shimmered like silver and disappeared. Then, just as suddenly, it reappeared, darker this time and in a new shape—a smile. Then I realized the "cloud" was a flock of birds. They stretched across the road like a wavy banner announcing the song that I was hearing on my radio. As the music of "This Is My Father's World" filled my car, the flock of dancing birds seemed to soar with each majestic phrase—dipping with each downbeat and swelling with each crescendo.

I wondered if the other drivers realized that they were in the audience of the Almighty. It seemed to me that all creation was rejoicing in His goodness.

With my eyes open, I prayed, "Thank You, heavenly Father, for allowing me to watch You conduct this remarkable ballet of birds. Thank You for reminding me that all creation, myself included, is part of Your song and that You are conducting every verse. May my praise and worship be as beautiful to You as Your creation is to me. Amen."

This is my Father's world—
The birds their carols raise;
The morning light, the lily white, Declare their Maker's praise. —Babcock

All of nature is a grand symphony, conducted by the Creator.

I Wonder

I wonder what it would be like to be known.  Truly be known.  Have someone see your sad face, know it's your sad face and know why your sad.  Have someone look at your tears and decipher whether they are tears of joy, sadness, grief or it's-just-one-of-those-days.

I wonder.


I wonder what it would be like to have someone know your mind.  Know what you're going to say, even before you say it.  Complete your sentence once you start.  Know what you're thinking without saying a word.

I wonder.

I wonder what it would be like to have someone know your innermost thoughts, secrets and dreams.  Things you've never told a soul, but somehow they know anyway.

I wonder.

I wonder what it would be like to have someone know your heart.  Know the good and the bad.  Know when you talked to that girl, stumbled over your words and offended her. Yet know your intentions were good.  To know when you smiled at that other girl, but you really wanted to smack her in the face.  I wonder what it would be like to have someone know what's in my heart without saying a word.

The thing is, I really don't have to wonder that hard.

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you..." (Jeremiah 1:5)

"I'm and open book to You;
Even from a distance, you know what I'm thinking.
You know when I leave and when I get back;
I'm never out of Your sight.
You know everything I'm going to say
before I start the first sentence
I look behind me and You're there,
Then up ahead and You're there, too-
Your reassuring presence, coming and going (Psalm 139:1-3

Thank you, Lord, for loving me.  Individually.  I know that You love this whole world, but thank You for loving just me.  All of me.

20 Years

Yesterday was our 20th anniversary.  We don't have much money, we wanted to do something special, like go on a trip or cruise.  The 20th year is china, like 25 is silver and 50 is gold.  Since we couldn't afford a trip to China, we settled on Chinese food and a movie from Redbox.  It was fun.  :)

On our wedding day we had saved the top of our cake and froze it like everyone told us to do. So on our first anniversary we thawed out are beautiful cake with butter cream frosting and raspberry filling and went to feed each other just like we did on our wedding day.  It was nasty!!  It was dried out and tasted like we were munching on a mixture of bark and sawdust.  I was so disappointed.

Our first kiss.  Well, as husband and wife.

To be honest, that's all I remember of our anniversary.  I remember our wedding.  Our crappy honeymoon...or rather, non-honeymoon.  I remember him giving me a card on our first MONTH anniversary, but the year anniversaries kind of blend together.  However, the marriage doesn't.

I remember when Rich and I was first married and he was training in Madison.  He was usually home at a certain time.  That time came and went.  Then another hour.  And another.  We didn't have cell phones back then, so I called the training center.  They tracked him down.  He was so irritated on the phone (first irritation).  He said he'd be home soon.  When he got home he questioned me about why I called and I told him I was worried.

He said, "you know I would be home eventually."

I said, "well, I know, but I was worried.  You could have been in an accident! (first quiver of voice and spring of tears)  You could have been killed!  You could... "

"Geez Beck, you have such a wild imagination." *gasp* (first fight)

He brings me into a hug.  "I'm all right.  But I'll never hear the end of this from the guys."*sigh* (first make up)

I remember telling Rich when I was pregnant with Micayla, when I was pregnant with Dale and Abrieanna... and when I was pregnant with the two other babies...and telling him when those babies went to heaven.

I remember giving birth to Micayla...30 hours.  Then after the exhaustion of having her, Rich holding this tiny little bundle on his shoulder, rocking her, loving her... He never looked so good to me.  I had her at 4 in the afternoon on a Sunday.  At 6:45, he leans in to me to give me a kiss and says, "ok I'm going to go." (Insert surprise) "I'm going to make sure I can catch the show" (he was show director for the Rock Aqua Jays water ski show). (Insert surprise mixed with icy look with daggers).  So I sat with my little precious, sobbing hormonal tears til he came back and asked me what was wrong.  (not the first of many eye rolls)

I remember the first time he was injured at work and had to have major surgery on his back.  I stood as a young bride listening to what the doctor was telling me with his parents at my side.  I couldn't stop crying and barely comprehended what he was saying.  When I was growing up, when someone in my family checked into a hospital, they never came out.  Or if they did, they came home to die.  All I heard was Rich needed emergency surgery... that translated...Rich is going to die.  Therefore, my marriage was over.  The love of my life is leaving me.  What am I going to do?  I remember the doctor talking to me then kind of sighing, then turning to his parents to tell them the rest.  haha I imagine him rolling his eyes inside and thinking, "Sheesh!  Pull it together lady!  It's just back surgery!  He's going to be fine!"

And he was.  He came out of the surgery well, but he has lived with chronic back pain most of our marriage.

We've had a lot of great times, we've had a lot of low times.  There have been times where we've looked at each other and thought, "I have never loved you more."  And there have been times where we've looked at each other and thought, prison doesn't seem so bad.

Most of our marriage we have been in chronic pain, Rich with his back for 18 years, me with chronic headaches and migraines for 15.  But you deal.  Other people have it much worse than we do.  We've been blessed.

There have been times when we have had it pretty good financially where my dream of being able to help others came true.  We were able to pay someones bills or buy them food.  And there have been times where we didn't know where our next meal was going to come from...how we were going to pay the kids' school fees.  But God always came through for us.  He was always faithful to provide.

God has been the glue that has held our craziness together.  If it wasn't for Him, I would have fallen apart when Rich went through his back and shoulder surgeries or miscarriages, death of parents and family members, or a hundred other scary moments in our lives. If it wasn't for Him, we wouldn't have gotten through our financial problems.  If it wasn't for Him we wouldn't recognize that it was Him who provided the joy and the goodness in our life.  If it wasn't for Him, I wouldn't be so very grateful for my family.

I've been to a lot of wedding over the years.  I really listen to the wedding vows.
"for better, for worse
for richer, for poorer,
in sickness, and in health,
to love, honor and cherish
'til death do us part..."

It seems to me that sometimes those vows are taken lightly.  We tend to remember the "better" the "richer" the "health" but forget the other stuff.  Marriage is hard.  It's hard no matter who you're with.  The grass isn't greener on the other side, you just have different landscaping problems.

Now, I'm not naive enough to understand that there are times where divorce is necessary.  There are times when a man or woman truly needs to get out of an unhealthy relationship.

On my wedding day, my dad came up to me and said, "now remember, divorce is no longer in your vocabulary.  God has blessed this marriage."  True.  Although as Ruth Graham (Billy Graham's wife) said, "Divorce? no.  Murder? yes."  =)

I love my husband with all my heart.  Here's to 20 more.

Gone

My Dad died.   One year ago.  365 days if we're keeping track. If a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years like a day in heaven, he's spent just a few seconds there.  Yet I've missed him every second of this last year.

It seems like I've said, "man, I miss my Dad" or "I wish my dad was here" more times than I can count.  Although I wouldn't want him back here the way he was.

Dad died on a Sunday and I spent the night the Friday night before at my mother's.  Everyone had gone to bed.  My mom had fallen asleep in her chair.  The house was quiet, save the oxygen machine for my Dad.

I pulled a recliner as close as I could to Dad's bed.  I tried to monkey with the settings of his bed to make the levels even with the recliner and at the same time,  not wake my Mother up. I laid in the recliner, pulled a pillow close to him and held his hand; my thumb skimming the back of his hand.  My mind catching the irony of how our roles had reversed. Every once in awhile I'd check his chest to make sure he was breathing.

I hummed old hymns that we use to sing together, I whispered stories about my kids, tears spilling down my cheeks, into my ears and onto my pillow.  I told him about my relationship with the Lord, my hopes, my dreams, my fears.... just as if he could respond.  Then I hummed some more.  I rubbed his arm and my eye caught his tattoo.  It sagged across his upper arm.  It was a picture of a bulldog with U.S.M.C. underneath.   He was always ashamed of it while I was growing up.  Always covering it up; trying to hide it.  He said he had gotten it while he was drunk when he was in the Marines, before he knew the Lord.  However, I didn't know that when I was a child.  All I saw was, well, blue mush that sort of looked like a dog with letters underneath.  I told my friends at school that my dad had a tattoo of his dog that died named Usmc.

The only photo I have of his tattoo

However that night, that tattoo represented that my dad was once a man.  A strong man.  One that proudly served in the United States Marine Corp.  Who lied about his age just so he could serve his country.  I didn't see any shame in that tattoo, I saw honor.  I saw valor.  I saw a glimpse of who my dad use to be.

Love a man in uniform =)

He wasn't an old man that was reduced to a shriveled skeleton with skin on...a mere 70 pounds.  He was Ivan Gerald Christianson.  My father. Bigger than the world.  Who could do anything, was afraid of nothing and could love everyone.

I turned 39 last Friday.  It was profound to me because that's the age Dad was when he had me.  It made me think of how in the end our roles had reversed.  I had wiped his eyes clean.  Helped carry him.  Helped change and bathe him... brush his hair, put his shirt on.  How many countless times did he do that for me?  Most dad's in the early 70's were "hands off", but my dad was in the delivery room, and took care of me just like a little mama.  I remember sitting on his lap in church, playing with his silk tie, sucking my finger and just feeling...safe.  I wonder if dad felt that way when I held his hand that last Friday stroking his hand.  Did he feel safe?  I remember being afraid after a bad dream and wandering out of my bed seeking comfort from my mom and dad in their room.  Before I could reach it, I saw the back of my Dad in the living room strumming his guitar and humming old choruses and hymns.  It soothed my heart and brought me comfort.  I went back to bed without anyone knowing.  I wonder if that Friday while I was humming those old choruses did it soothe his heart and bring comfort?

I rememeber coming back from my voice and piano lessons in Madison with Dad and he was sharing some of his ideas and dreams for Special Kids N Us (mom and dad's ministry).  He got all excited and sped up on the Interstate.  It made me feel special that he would share such intimate thoughts and dreams with me.  I wonder if Dad felt special when I shared with him about my children, my hopes and dreams, my fears and doubts?  Or if he heard me at all?

But that's the thing about my Dad, just when you think he's not listening, he squeezes your hand, or winks at you or tells your story to someone else.  The last day of Dad's life he sang with me.  Not with his voice, but he mouthed it.  He was listening the Friday before... that was one of my hopes.  I prayed for that.

He accomplished much in his life.  He had a long, loving marriage, 16 kids, a ministry to special needs children, 100+ foster children.... yet his greatest accomplishment was his relationship with the Lord.  That's his legacy. That's what he wanted to pass down to every one of his children.  Not money.  Not possessions, not heartache...but a true knowledge of Christ.  Everyone needs to work out their own Salvation.  I know that.  But Dad pointed us in the right direction.  He was the compass that pointed us to Christ.  That was his gift to us. I pray I can be the kind of parent that he was to me.

I'm so proud to be his daughter.

I miss you, Dad.

Puddles

Puddles

One day when my older two were little, 2 and 3, I took them outside after a rain shower.  We love rainy days.  Well, Micayla and I do.  We'd watch the rain make tracks on the windows, hug the sills and then then kiss them goodbye and fall into the grass.  We'd watch the lightning streak across the sky and count how many beats til our bones shook with thunder.  Dale, on the other hand, would stomp with his boots on, stick his lower lip out, point to the door and say, "when?" Meaning, when could he go outside?  He loved being out there.  He didn't find a grain of dirt that wasn't his friend...he loved all this friends and tried to bring them all home.  He loved running, jumping, rolling in mud, frogs, bugs, rocks...um, outdoors.  

Which brings me to the day of the rain shower.  It hadn't rained long.  By the time we went out, the driveway was nearly dry, the grass looked like it had drips of dew on it.  I was in the garage getting their bikes out and when I turned around, they were in the street.  Now, we didn't live on a horribly busy street, but it was a street!  With moving cars.  That came by regularly.  I believe I reached them at the speed of mom when I realized that they found the only puddle in the city of Janesville.  They were soaked from knees down, hands to elbows.  Faces shining not from the rain but from sheer kid-joy.  Even my prissy-girl, Micayla, was enjoying herself. It was a beautiful sight.

Yeah, taken another day on the sidewalk.  Cute, huh?

I find it hard, even at their age now, to restrain my kids after a good rainfall.  They're out there stomping, splashing, playing in the puddles.

In the street...again

I guess you never grow out of it... A year or so I went to Wal-Mart to get a few things.  I knew it was going to rain, but I didn't know how bad.  The lights went out, people were freakin' out.  I thought it was cool.  I've always loved storms. I grew up in the country.  Every time there was a bad storm or tornado warning, my mom would shoo us down into the basement.  I somehow found myself sneaking up by my dad watching the storms roll by.  Fascinating.

Anyway,  after I checked out at Wal-Mart, it was pouring out.  It was like God had unzipped the bag of rain and it came down in sheets.  I stood under the awning a few seconds to see if it would let up. It didn't.  I watched a lady unload her groceries into the back of her car, struggling under a Hello Kitty umbrella.  Hilarious!  A lady was hunched under the awning with me, and said, "well, now or never" then booked to her car.  I just laughed.  I started to run to the van, but it was such warm rain.  The water was past my ankles soaking through my flip flops making them squishy.  Fun.  I strolled to the van.  As I was unloading my car, I glanced at the lady with the umbrella and literally laughed out loud.  I don't know why she bothered, she was getting just as wet with it.  I slammed the door shut and took the cart back (as well as umbrella lady's...I've never seen a lady more grateful and miserable at the same time).  On my way back to the van, I stomped in every puddle bring some very odd looks  from adults, and longing from some children.  It was fun.  I looked like a drowned rat.  But it was fun.

drowned rat

A few months later, Micayla, her friend, Desirea and I went to a concert in Beloit.  When we arrived we quickly found out that there was a misprint on the artists website and the concert was at a different location.  It had rained on the way there so, yep, lots of puddles.  I watched the girls as they ran from puddle to puddle....well, yeah, I joined too.  We watched our flip flops float in the deeper ones and splashed each other like kids. 

Desirea and Micayla

We drove back home, looking for places where we could find more puddles.  We found them.  As the girls ran across the parking lot, I turned around and saw this ginormous double rainbow stretched across the sky.  It was the first time that I ever saw one from one end to the other.  I told the girls that and they said in unison, "really?"  I said, yeah...at least I don't remember noticing it. Maybe my eyes had never been opened to it before.  I remember seeing a million rainbows in my life.  Corners, tops, the beginning here, the top there, the end over there.  But not one in it's entirety.  I tried taking it's picture on my phone, but it wouldn't fit.  It was too big to contain.  It was breathtaking. I kept saying it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  I felt like that random guy on YouTube.  "What does it mean?!"  haha Well, not quite that bad.  But this rainbow was amazing.

God's Promise...Picture given to me by Micayla through the magic of Picnik

I wonder how many things my eyes haven't been paying attention to.  Countless, I suppose.

When my kids were little, if they had something on their chin or cheek, I would lick my finger or thumb and wipe it off.  My husband would look at me with disgust and say, "Ugh, my mom use to do that to me; I hated that."

Yet, I remember that story in the Bible where Jesus used his spit, mixed it with mud, put it on the blind man's eyes and healed him (John 9:6).  That's my prayer to the Lord... that He would lick his finger, wipe the dirt off my heart and heal it.  That He would open the eyes of my heart so I can see the things around me...see Him.

There are times when I become so busy, irritated, frustrated, complacent, have tunnel vision on the tasks that I have to complete, that I don't look at the things around me.  There's an acronym about the word "busy" that spells out Being Under Satan's Yolk.  I think that's true.  We get so busy that we forget about loved ones needs.  Forget to look at God's creation. Forget to pray and study His word.  Forget to play in the puddles.

Lighten up.  It's a rainy day.  Enjoy it.  He has things that He wants us to see...to big for hearts to even contain.

"Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine..."  Eph. 3:20

An Angel?

An Angel?

I met God yesterday.  Well, I had an experience that was definitely God-like and the man was sent from God.

I hadn't been to zumba in a long time.  I was excited.  The "pre game" music was pumpin' in the gym, I was hopping and pretending that I looked Latina as I pathetically passed off my footwork as zumba-ish.  Then I was told a man was at the gym doors, looking for a pastor...barely speaking English.

I'm a little unsure of what to do at first.  All of the pastors were gone.  My Spanish equivalency is about as fluent as Dora's.  So, I called my husband, who just happened to be working in the church's garage....which is odd, and a God thing...who also had my son with him.

What I gathered from the man was that he lost his job in Chicago because he hurt himself.  He had gashes on his face and his hand was wrapped in a brace.  His cousin lived in Lancaster, MN so he was going up there to live with them because his wife could get a job cleaning.  On his way there, his tire blew on his car, and they fixed it, but now have no money.  Then he said, "we're hungry."

I thought about all the TV shows that I have seen where there are starving kids in Africa, and the money that we raised for the earthquake in Haiti.  While all of those things are legitimate and completely necessary to help and take care of... we have hunger issues literally on our doorsteps.

I'm gullible.  I'm a sucker.  I can have the wool pulled over my eyes and someone can take my last dollar and it would be me that gave it to them.  But something, or Someone, told me that this story was legit.  I looked at Rich and I said, we have to help him.  He said, what did he say?  ;)

Rich said, call Pastor Hernandez and see if there's anything else that he needs; if there's a baby involved, whatever.  So, while I was looking for a directory, I found a stash of candy bars, like 20.  I took five and gave them to Dale and said, go give them to him.   At least it's something until we figure out what to do.  So, sorry to the teen/person/pastor who I stole from.  It went to a good cause.

When we gave it to him, it was like Christmas.  So sad to me.

The Hispanic Pastor's wife, Isabelle, told us that they needed instant type food because they would need to heat it up in microwaves at rest stops or eat it in their car.  So we loaded them up from the church pantry.  Gave them paper towels and sanitizer, juice and water too.  As I helped him to his car, he told me, "people in there (zumba) so happy.  I can't be happy now."  Broke. My. Heart.  I told him, "I know it's hard right now, but it WILL get better.  God will bring you through this."

His wife had been waiting in the car.  It was an old, rusted, broken down car. He was embarrassed.  He commented on how nice the vehicles were in the parking lot compared to his.  I told him, it didn't matter as long as it got him from point A to point B. His wife had to sit in the back seat of the Jimmy and prop the front seat forward because it was broke.  The air didn't work and only pushed out hot air...and the window didn't roll down.  His wife's leg was hurt in someway...I didn't understand how.  My heart went out to them.  I had nothing to give.  So I asked if I could pray with them.  She smiled and held out her hand.  My son had been with me the whole time.  He put his hand on the man's shoulder.  We had church for a few minutes.  =)  I don't know how much they understood of my prayer, but the Holy Spirit did.

He said they only had a little gas, so Rich took them over and filled them up.  He got tears in his eyes and looked up to the sky and said, "Gloria a Dios!  Gracias! I pray for church." And pointed at our church.

Maybe it was a scam for free food and free gas.  Maybe Rich and I are fools.  But maybe, he really was a man in need.  Hmm. Imagine that the church really helped a hungry and needy soul.  Imagine if it were you and you needed help.

The Bible says to "do unto the least of these." (Matt 25:40) It warns us to help  because if we do, it's like we're helping Jesus.  Or just maybe if we help a stranger, "we could be entertaining angels unaware." (Heb 13:2) Yesterday, it honestly didn't enter my mind that I was helping Jesus.  I was just trying to do the right thing to people in need.

Although as Dale and I were cleaning up, I was telling him, just when you think you have it bad, someone always has it worse.  He said, I know.  I was just waiting for John Quinones to come out (from What Would You Do?).  =)

I don't know who this man was.  Never caught his name.  Doubt I'll ever see him again.  Yet he gave me a gift; he showed me how lucky I am.  I caught the last zumba song.  My steps were a little higher...perhaps a little less awkward?  Maybe?  After all, I did shake an angel's hand.

Thank you, Lord, for your provision.  For my husband who provides for us...that you have given him the knowledge to work on our vehicles so we don't have to pay a mechanic.  Thank you for giving Rich and Dale a tender heart.  They were as willing as I was to help this couple.  I am blessed. Thank you for the man and his wife yesterday.  For allowing us to bless them in some very small way.  May you provide for them in the rest of their journey, and bless them 100 fold in their life.

No More Resolutions

I heard an awesome statistic today for New Year's resolutions.  "Four out of five people who make New Year's resolutions will eventually break them.  In fact, a third won't even make it to the end of January." (New York Times) Awesome.  I haven't made a New Year's resolution in years, because of that: failure.  I jokingly made one last year to eat more chocolate and work out less because I knew those were two that I could keep.

Although, resolutions aren't something that have to be made at the beginning of a new year.  My daughter and niece made a commitment to wear the same red shirt for 30 days in order to raise money for "Speed The Light."  They wore it every day.  The same shirt.  Gross.  But they did it!  I was so proud of them! (And I did wash those nasty things.) But, imagine how hard it had to be for them.  Being 16 and 12 and wearing the same shirt day after day after day.  I don't know if I could have held out.  One week would be ok.  Two pushing it.  By the third week, people are looking at you like, "Um, seriously, I have a shirt you can have."  Fourth week.... wow.   So proud of them.

A friend of mine was listening to the Christian radio station and they're put out a challenge to listen to them for 30 days to see if it makes a difference.  It got her thinking about other things she could do in 30 days.... 30 days of yoga, 30 days of staying away from alcohol, 30 days of praying for guidance and blessing, 30 days of cleaning, 30 days of sticking to a work out, 30 days of eating like a vegetarian.  30 days can make a difference.

I read a book recently and the character in the book, for New Year's imagined something specific where she'd be the following New Year's.  That sounds so much better to me.

So.  Instead of making a New Year's resolution this year, instead of wishing to lose 10 pounds, or trying to work out 3 times a week, or to eat less chocolate (that's never going to happen).  Instead, I want to set a goal for myself by next New Year's Day.

By this time next year, I want to have a book written.  That is something that I've always wanted to do, but have always said, "I want to write a book someday."  Well, someday is here.

Boom.  Now it's in writing.  No going back now!  What's your resolution?  I mean, goal?