Resolution shmesolution

 I used to love "year in review" articles. I'd eagerly await the big fat newspaper and relive the highs and lows of a year gone by. I still adore Christmas letters even while recognizing their general rose-colored tint and careful skew toward the positive.

I want to remember the good, the best, the beautiful. When I think about the low points and hardships I want to, in that same thought process, to point myself toward some small (or huge!) redeeming glimmer that perhaps brightened a dark time.

Just before Christmas my girls had the beautiful privilege to lead a ballet party for a 5-year-old with Leukemia.Her sister and her friends donned tutus and twirled for two hours to make some memories that we dearly hope will sustain her through a difficult round of treatment.

 Four years ago, for more than a year, our Sarah was so very sick. I didn't see any shimmer and I didn't, to be truthful, want anyone's encouragement that it would turn out alright. I was overwhelmed with doctor's opinions and hospital visits and test results and the need to remain upright for most every day and a lot of the nights.The weight of seeing other families' babies in danger and pain at the children's hospital was too much. My crushing fear made it impossible for me to be comforted even by anyone else's healing miracle.

I know for sure that God made us each unique and I was reminded of this once again when our new little friend's mother wanted Sarah to talk to her daughter, the brave tiny ballerina, about Sarah's illness and recovery. About how the idea of ballet got Sarah through her worst pain. It did, you know; when she was the brave tiny dancer, Sarah asked all the doctors, nurses, phlebotomists and imaging people: "When this is over, can I go to ballet class?"

Somehow in goodness and grace, our miracle comforted someone else.

So even though I don't prefer year-in-review stories anymore -- the difficult year our world has just left behind had its horrors that I don't want to recap -- I will listen to your miracles, your rose-colored remembrances and your victories over hardship. I am willing to be encouraged by the way you were brought through and over and around. And I hope in some small way I can offer you a glimmer of hope that emerges from my life's less-than-wonderful moments.

God is Good.