Resolution

I'm 32.

Restless. There was so much more I wanted to do by now. So much more I dreamed of being. This world keeps spinning at breakneck speeds and I hold on for dear life until, one day, I wake up and I'm 32.

Or 52.

Or 82.

It doesn't really matter what age because, however I dissect the years, I find the answer lies squarely in the fact that I am old. Not as old as I'll be tomorrow but certainly older than I was yesterday. Young compared to some, of course. As old as I've ever been, indeed.

I want my house to be clean, to raise up these boys, to be a better wife and certainly a better pastor's wife, to save wisely, to spend graciously, but most of all, what I've always wanted is to be somebody.

I'm an achiever. It doesn't matter what I accomplish in a day's time, my bed envelopes me and I am dissatisfied with what I've managed to tackle. The list is always long, the fruit scarce. My chest constricts and I feel panic swell, choking my throat with cathartic tears that I forbid my eyes to shed.

I should be...

Fill in the blank with everything I've ever wanted, needed, believed I could be.

I am a recovering perfectionist. Sometimes I relapse. I feel pressure wrap its cold, bony fingers around me and I fight to pry them off. I don't have to be the woman I've created in my head. She's a fake, a fraud, a phony. An airbrushed version of someone who looks vaguely like me. She's not real. She's the monster under the bed--existing only in my own imagination.

I've never been one for resolutions. Enough failed plans for the new year piled up sky high until I stopped making them altogether. Fifteen years ago. Or so. But I've got one thing pretty well figured out. I'm never going to get everything done that I want to. Never. Ever. Because I want too many things.

But on this first day after my 32nd birthday, I'm resolving. I am old--if I have only one year of life left. I am young--if I have sixty. And I'll never know, at least not really, where my future lies on that hazy line between here and eternity.

I've boiled down every single hope and dream and desire to just one thing.

And I want to live it big.

It's a prayer to my Creator, the only one who's opinion of me actually matters.

Let something I do each and every day have eternal significance. 

On slow days, may a fierce hug remind my children how much their Father loves them. On fast days, may a hurried smile to a stranger remind her of Love. May I remember that each day--regardless of how many are left--is a gift from the Almighty. Perhaps, if I live life every day pointing to Him, I won't worry about being somebody. I won't need to do more or be more than He has called me to do or be right now.

Oh Lord, if I accomplish nothing else in this life, let something I do every day matter--eternally.

Let me love like You.

Let me lead someone to You.

Let me show them You in my smile, my joy, my life.

This is my resolution.