This Christmas I was given the gift of words.
Between a New York Times subscription, Kindle Unlimited and a handful of paperbacks I have enough to keep me going happily for all of 2020.
Even the mass readings were a gift: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Very explicit, courtesy of John, followed up with, “What came to be through him was life, and this life was the light of the human race; the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it (John 1:1, 4-5).”
That last bit I had carried in my heart through this year; light was the word of the season as the darker parts of my heart were illuminated and the dusty corners of my soul cleaned out. A year of open windows, fresh air, therapy, journals, night skies, starlight and the first pinks of dawn. A year of refusing to be overcome, and then, beyond simply defying defeat, a year of resilience that overflowed into life.
What word, of all the words, will speak to the season ahead?
I was out last week with my cousins and we walked by a bar, all cheerfully buzzed on G&Ts and the cold December air. A bouncer stopped us, begged us to come into the hazy-blue bar with it’s empty dance floor. I’m sure we were an impressive bunch; a gaggle of tall, red-lipped, long-haired twenty-somethings. We walked past, intent on our destination (pizza), and continued to ignore the calls of the boy behind us. I trailed behind and heard him plead, one last time, “Come on, come in! You’re pretty too!”
I rolled my eyes, shook my head, and marched on to more important things (pizza). A couple slices and an uber ride later we were safely in our beds, bouncers all but forgotten.
The next morning, though, I found traces of annoyance lingering.
Was this boy used to having girls do his bidding just by calling them pretty?
Why had I even turned around at all?
And, by the way, aren’t I more than just pretty?
Such a small word, but enough to throw intelligent women off their axis at the mercy of smaller boys.
Which is the word I want? If I got to pick something better than pretty, what would be enough to catch my attention and hold it?
Which is the one that I am?
Which is the one God says I am?
Another Christmas Scripture nudges my heart and settles in like the last puzzle piece: “No more shall people call you ‘forsaken,’ or your land ‘desolate’ but you shall be called ‘my delight’ and your land ‘espoused’ (Isaiah 62:4).”
I wouldn’t mind being a delight. I’d definitely like to move away from those old characters Forsaken and Desolate.
I think back to a few weeks ago when I felt Jesus whisper “let me take you to France.” A small, almost silly, thing, but a thing that meant something to me. I went home that day and booked a trip to visit the land of my dearest Saint friends. That day felt like the beginning of this- a journey where I am no longer espoused to the little earthly man who hated travel, but rather to the man who died for me.
Another whisper takes shape: This year is the year I am beloved.
Beloved:
adjective
be•loved /bəˈləvəd/
dearly loved
Thank God the open windows of last year let in the holy breezes of this one.
I am seen. I am known. I will learn to live out of a place where I am anchored, deeply set in who I am and who I belong to. Beyond pretty, but beautiful.
A lot of words packed into one little word.
I’ll take it.
letters to you 