I’ve gone from one floral journal to another. I wonder what thoughts and emotions and prayers and poems I will capture this year. I wonder what will fill those pages. I wonder when I will return to the journal of 2020, and if I’ll like what I find there.
I wonder if 2021 will be good, if my words will be good. This morning I prayed about 2021 and that was the only thing I could think of to say: please let it be good.
I think it will be. I think it already is.
Today, I drove to the home I grew up in. I haven’t been there since I was eleven and was pleasantly surprised to recall the street and the houses as I walked along. Small differences, too, like the footpath and the hedge.
I hadn’t planned to go, but at midday I was itching for something and I knew I wouldn’t specifically plan to do this. So I hopped in the car on what was a spontaneous adventure. (If you know me, you know this doesn’t happen very often. It’s a Christmas miracle!)
I walked around the park we used to go as kids, embarrassed to find the ‘giant lizard’ I used to climb on was… not so giant. I went on a swing and bought myself a magnum and walked past my old primary school.
It wasn’t what I was expecting 2021 to start off with, but I like that I ended up welcoming the new year with childhood memories and a renewed hope for the future.
Let 2021 be good.
Lately my prayers have been simple, small. But not insignificant. They’ve been honest and true to my heart and to my faith.
God is listening. And He is good.