This is one of my favorite weeks of the year.
It’s the “already, not yet” week. We have already experienced most of the year — we’ve made it through Christmas morning, decking the halls, singing carols, and slowly, slowly, we are emerging from our cocoa coma to realize a new year is upon us. This new year is a gift full of anticipation and though there are no guarantees, we make our plans, say our prayers, set our goals, and hope for a tomorrow better than yesterday, as good as yesterday may have been.
Yet those of us who have lived enough years know that there will be trouble; dashed dreams, broken hearts, sickness, mourning, and disrupted plans. Goals will be unmet. Plans will change. And oh, among this hurt and sadness, joyful surprises will nurse our hearts and encourage us to hope once more.
Already, not yet.
For believers, we know that means we live in a world where Jesus has already rescued us, and yet…He has not returned for good. We still live in a broken world. So we wait in joyful hope. And sometimes in trembling fear, humble remorse, patient (or impatient) longing. We wait, but we live in the meantime. We strive to thrive and not merely survive. We look with longing and the longing leads us upward toward ideals of living not necessarily a great life, but a good one.
This week captures that feeling better than any week of the year. It is full of reflection; it is full of expectation. Anything is possible…for better or for worse.
So we make our plans. We lay them out like an offering. We hope that He multiplies the good and tosses out the bad as far as the east is from the west.
We prepare to restart our homeschool year. We look upon it with fresh eyes after a long break. Things look clear — we wonder what in the world we were thinking adding that curriculum in the fall and we throw it out without looking back. We see with renewed confidence which books need to be read, which skills need to be honed, which habits need to be practice, which activities can get cut, which holes need to be filled, which branches need to be pruned.
We pray and consider what this season of our life looks like as the mother, the homeschooler, the wife, the friend, the ________. We feel confident we will be able to wear all the hats and look great in them.
The new year is a blank slate in some ways — a day (rather, a year) with “no mistakes in it yet,” in the words of Anne. And yet, He has seen every day already. He knows our story; it’s in the book. But we have the privilege of playing our part. It’s a mystery in so many ways.
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