January 1 is a day of newness, a day of oldness. A day when eyes dart forward and behind all at once; no wonder I always wind up in such a blur. I feel like new years are quite a lot like snowfall. They drift down—fresh coats of white on the packing ice. Everything light, feathery, pure, and haunted by minutes flapping their wings. Time holds us in calloused hands. It weathers us just by its cradling. Breathing, blinking, simply being—it all stomps down our snow. The process doesn’t change. The trend governs us. There will be breaking and there will be building, all in the arms of days going by. But I think that this year, I want to get out and tromp my boots around in the white a bit more. I want to see the glossy cold blanket as a field for new footprints, not just a bit of frosting on a cake not meant for eating. I want to soak it in, then run through it with both arms open. Until my nose is cold and cheeks flush roses and the yard is thoroughly stomped on. I want to live richly and deeply, with an urgency to taste life and be love. I willingly put my hands in the ones that fashioned them, ready to be led forward.
When I took a few minutes to recap the highlights of 2012, I decided that I’ve never had a bigger year. Finishing college. Changing cities. Falling in love. Heartbreak and hurting and healing. Romania. Becoming a pen-pal. Having a best friend get married and move. Learning guitar. Starting medical school. Adding feverishly to my friend collection. Dubbing caffeine the base of my food pyramid. Finding out that morning devotions are like air. Seeing Jesus as my reason for living. Letting it slowly sink in that I am loved by Love itself. 2013 is going to have to really slap on its game face if it plans on being anywhere near as stunning as the past 365 days of life.