We huddled together and watched the Times Square ball drop as we counted out the last few seconds of 2008. Then cheers, kisses, grins and shouts of encouragement filled the air across our land, framed by time zones so far apart that by the time they were jumping up and down on the West Coast, we were sound asleep in New York, nestled beneath comfy, warm covers.
At last, I remember thinking, a new year to plan and accomplish projects, bring dreams to reality, make amends and build that garden shed. Yes, this will be a year of change and hope. I can hardly wait for sunrise.
Six months later: one divorce, losing a life-long friendship (she knew the divorce was my fault) several bad investments, one serious car accident followed by mending broken limbs and three months of physical therapy, having books rejected again, I sit on my deck (the rather small deck of my one bedroom apartment, sipping coffee and looking over my New Year’s list of projects. I wince.
And here we are again, thinking of what may lay ahead for this next New Year. Will I make yet another list or am I too fragile and suspicious, wondering if this will be tempting fate and causing disaster.
But then I recall when my faith in God was stronger, when I was willing to step out, not fearful of any tribulations or obstacles but considered such things as mere ruts in the road of life; Ruts all people must drive into, over or become bogged down in. Dear God, my quiet prayer begins, remember me?
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