Unwritten

A new year and decade started while I was still enjoying the Christmas break. I wish I could have made it last longer.
It was one of the rare instances where Terri and I had all of our kids and grandkids at our home at one time. Because there is never enough of the real deal for me in Cape May County, I pre-purchased a basket of artificial snow plush balls for the indoor battle of the ages. Everyone was involved, and it was pure fun to engage in an activity that didn’t involve video gadgets of any kind.
There were other memories made as we read books, played games, went on the rides in Ocean City and shared laughter during these wonderful days. I wouldn’t have traded any of it for all the gold in Alaska, and that is what I am most grateful for.
 I didn’t miss any of it this time. I was fully present for this glorious gift. If I had to express my biggest regret and frustration over the last decade, it would be how much of life I have missed because of anxiety, depression and the daily battle with the emotional landmines that decked my halls for too long.
If I have any victory cry from the last ten years, it would be “I’m still here.” There were too many close calls along the way that I thought for sure would lead to my swan song. I thought I heard a fat lady singing somewhere, but thankfully, I was mistaken.
I came close to throwing in the towel more than once, but I didn’t let it go. I wanted to cry “uncle,” but lost my voice in the nick of time. Because I grasped on to genuine faith in a God larger than a worldly weapon attempting to blow me to smithereens, I persevered.
The Lord’s love didn’t fail when my own feeble attempts to gain ground were sacked and my man-made wells were sucked dry. The fact that I’m still standing is a miracle.
As the beloved apostle, Paul, once reiterated, “I have been knocked down but not knocked out. I have been crammed in but never crushed. I have flailed and faltered more than once on this path to glory but never failed in not bouncing back up for more fighting on yet another day.” Also, as Yogi Berra said, while the manager of the New York Mets, “It ain’t over until it is over.”
There is a reason I have lived to play ball another day, so my New Year’s prayer sounds like, “Put me in Coach, I’m ready to play. If I’m still breathing, I’m still begging to be in the game.” Also, I need to stop telling God what I’m going to do and start each day with my life being a blank sheet of paper, with reporting for duty as my only expectation.
My word for 2020 is “unwritten.” For too long, I have allowed my Type A personality and my over the top expectations to become a negative than a positive. I’m 60 years old, and honestly, but inaccurately, I still expect the production of a 30-year-old man from my input and output.
When I come out of the chute and pull a hamstring in the 50-yard dash, it is not because I was not prepared or didn’t generate enough passion. It was because I was not properly equipped.
I need to approach the challenge with the same providential pursuit without looking to use the same personnel as before. While I still know how to play the field, I don’t have the same athleticism, which is not something to be depressed about. It’s something to become godly educated and spiritually suited for.
For the first time in my life, I am committing to paying attention to directions. Instead of moving fast, I’m going to figure everything out by moving slow and steady. That statement alone would be anathema to me in the past, but it may become my mantra in the days to come.
I have almost written myself off too often these last ten years. Today, I am asking Jesus not to take the wheel but to take the pen and script His will into my way. This not a negative by any means, but more of an accentuate the positive move that must be made to keep me from digging a premature grave.
The brain is a powerful organ. The more I read about it, the more I become humbled over how fierce and fragile it is. Maybe, multitasking is not a spiritual fortitude to be championed.
Doing one thing well might be cherished in heaven more than we ever thought. Making eye contact in our daily conversations and staking regular holy heart connection in God’s revelation may be more productive than a 100-hour workweek.
Could running out of ink be God’s doing? Is not bringing writing utensils to the altar the best posture for worship?
This conclusion is my best introduction into the new year and decade, which is, “I’m still here God, and I long to serve You with all that I have.”
I think most of my anxiety has been caused by trying to follow God with what I no longer possess. We can’t offer what we don’t own, but yet, will we lay down whatever is left.
As I begin 2020, I am saying a resounding “yes.” I can’t do much about the words that filled my pages from 2010 to 2019, but I am responsible from this day forward, so the rest of my story is up to God – unwritten, unexpected, but undeniably undaunted.
Ready or not, here we go. What’s God’s word for you?
ED. NOTE: The author is the senior pastor of The Lighthouse Church, 1248 Route 9 South, Court House.