Walking Into a New Year, Side By Side

Walking Into a New Year, Side By Side

My mom and I sat on rockers on her and my dad’s front porch, listening to the wet-weather creek rushing by in the darkness. The stars were so clear, it was as if I was no longer near-sighted. Around the bend, hedged by a stand of trees, stood the house my husband had built, and I had turned into a home.

I knew the hairline crack in the sink; the ring in the hardwood next to the fireplace where I had weekly overwatered my cactus plant, as if determined to kill it out of kindness. I knew the rosebush that was growing next to the split-rail fence exactly where we had planted it: a memorial to our unborn child whom my husband and I had buried one rainy fall night.

So many emotions were conjured forth by us leaving, and so many emotions are conjured forth whenever we return. But my mom and I did not talk of the move.

Instead, we talked about the past two years, and everything that has happened.

My mom’s youngest brother was paralyzed in a motorcycle accident. Her closest sister—with whom my mom once sang at churches and fairgrounds—died from breast cancer. My older brother relapsed, got better, relapsed, and got better again. And, to top it all off, my husband and I moved her granddaughters to Wisconsin—leaving her quaint playroom, with its miniature doll furniture, as forlorn as her dreams.

My mom said, “They used to tell me I looked at life through rose-colored glasses, and I thought, ‘What’s wrong with that?’”

I reached out and touched her shoulder as she continued to speak to me as her friend rather than her daughter; a key relational shift that has taken place since I left.

I murmured, “One year ago tonight’s when they found Randy’s tumor.”

Shaking her head, my mom whistled softly.

We made a pact then, rocking there on her porch, not to become bitter, emotionally-shriveled women.

Though there are thirty years between our life journeys, without the rose-colored glasses, I can see they haven’t been easy for either of us, but I don’t think easy is the point.

The point is, we are here—on the other side—with a new year, a new chance, to forgive those who have wronged us; to love deeply and more perfectly through the only One who is perfect; to use the trials which will inevitably arise to propel us into a deeper compassion for humanity and a deeper understanding of the Father God’s heart.

Yes, our van caught on fire before Christmas; yes, my daughter almost knocked out her tooth; yes, the girls and I have been sick for a week; yes, my loved ones are going to let me down, and I’m going to let them down, too.

But we’re all on this journey together, and if we stop fighting long enough to extend a hand, we will be able to make it through whatever trials arise, as we continue propelling each other into a deeper understanding of human and divine love.

Won’t you join me? I would love to walk side by side.

“Finally, an apocalyptic novel ablaze with hope. Just the kind of story I champion. A must-read.” ~Sarah McCoy, New York Times and international bestselling author of The Mapmaker’s Children and The Baker’s Daughter

The Alliance, releasing June 1, is now available for pre-order.