Читать книгу I Love the Word Impossible - Ann Kiemel - Страница 9

it matters what you do with a year.

it counts. the old is the foundation

for the new.

new year’s eve, 1974.

i threw a robe over my gown, slipped on sandals,

a warm cap over my ears, and gloves.

my world was black with night. the cold caught

my breath and made it white, and i laughed to

watch it and feel its sting on my face.

everything was still and quiet. i scraped up a

ball of snow and aimed it at the neighbors’

window.

i threw three more and waited for them to look

out… and laugh back… and belong and BE at

the dawn of ‘75.

then i tossed snowballs in the night… in all

directions.

and called out,

“God, do you see me?

ann. in this old neighborhood. i’m alive, God.

i’m celebrating. YOU’VE made me live.

You’ve kept me strong. when i hurt, You did.

when i cried, You cried. when i failed, You knew

…but You didn’t shove me away. others would

have. they would have thought their judgment

righteous and proper. oh, Jesus, not You.

You’re love.

and love is strong. and faithful. and loyal.

and patient and kind.

Jesus, thank you.

‘74 had agony and promise.

i still want to know so much more about Truth.

but i’m growing. i can feel it, God.

make “something beautiful” out of me.

it’s a NEW year. yahoooooooo…”

snowballs and flurries and miles of sky and

bending trees.

and God and i and love

wanting to turn the world.

in small ways.

where people live and hurt.

because He loves us.

you. me.

anyone.

earlier that new year’s eve, i popped corn in my

new popper from Christmas… and took it

downstairs to the girls who live below me. we

sipped pepsis and stretched on the rug to watch t. v.

then they poured me eggnog, and we felt festive

and sophisticated, waiting for a new year.

today the unknown hours stretch and pull before

me.

potential and power and poise.

eternity in my neighborhood, where i live…

i believe.