“It’s been the kind of year I’d be fine if I forgot, yeah
But I’ll never forget it as long as I live and that’s saying a lot”
Ben Rector, The Best is Yet to Come
As the second hand continues to click a breath closer to the end of 2023 and the beginning of 2024, I find myself in a familiar position. My hands with fingers curled and soft clank of light of keys beneath them. Words start to stream on a white screen as again I try to make sense of the year that was in some hopes of hope for the year that will be.
Maybe some famed poet such as Whitman, Hemingway, or Shakesphere eloquently described how to properly measure a year. Is it with moments or minutes? Do we measure it in months or mementos that we carry with us? Either way, the truth remains, we reflect, we look back, we remember. So this leads me to asking how will 2023 be remembered?
The recording artist Ben Rector in his New Years themed song “The Best is Yet to Come” opens with the line – “It’s been the kind of year I’d be fine if I forgot.” Well Ben, me too. Not that the year was forgetful or dull, in fact most certainly the opposite. It has been filled with swells of joy and crashing heartache and sorrow. It has been marked by memories and overrun by tidal waves of hardship. It has been full of whispers of thanksgiving and full of shouting at the heavens. In the past 364 and a half days, life has been filled. It has been filled with decisions, unexpected outcomes, pleasant and heartbreaking surprises.
And I sit on a day the sun will set and rise on a new day, a new month, and a new year. If the Lord is willing, I will rise tomorrow to begin another revolution around the sun in a year we call 2024. And I get to be the captain of the ship of decisions – what do I take with me, what do I leave behind, what do I pick up along the journey of the year ahead?
In truth, the baggage of my life is well worn. It has seen the port of previous years. Marked and scuffed from being dragged in and out of season after season, there are probably some articles in that bag that need to not go with me. Per usual, I am overpacked for the “what ifs” of life. But maybe this year, I need to leave some things in life’s Goodwill pile and not pick them back up.
As I crack open the suitcase of my concerns, I begin to dig deep in the luggage of my life. I swim through the things I carry, I finally put my hands on insecurity. Insecurity was once a high end piece of fashion that dressed my outer self to protect my inner brokenness. It is as colorful as the tail of a peacock. It is bold, vibrant, hiding all my hurts and fears. When it was new it was beautiful, flashy, and stood out. Now it is just worn, fatigued, with holes where hurts bleed through. It can no longer act as a shell of protection of the honest emotions that seep out the seams. It is time to leave it behind.
My hands sort and sift as my heart and eyes look in the luggage of life, I find a pair of childhood shoes. Black canvas with white soles. From first glance, they appear to be classic Converse Chuck Taylor’s. Upon further inspection, there is no name brand on them. The soles are worn with holes. Shoelaces covered in the dust of childhood baseball fields. The dusty footprints left behind I would sweep away with my foot out a shame I felt for my off brand, poor kid shoes.
My mind and heart with the shame of feeling impoverished. These shoes that are now 10 sizes too small remain in the bag of my mind perpetually reminding me that there is not enough. Shoes I walked in but a shame I feel I have walked out my whole adult life. It was a moment, momento of nearly 40 years previous. It is an echo of a moment of years past that I packed in my life’s luggage to serve as a reminder that no matter how much you get, there is never enough.
The shoes on my feet may be marked by designer brands, be fashion forward, but that poor kid dressed with off brand Chuck’s has lived on my life’s luggage. Carried into year and after year. Reminding me I am just a poor kid and we do not have enough.
As I set those raggedy childhood sneakers aside, the words of the apostle Paul try to find a home in my heart. His declaration of finding the secret of being content. Whether there was a lot or a little, in times of abundance, times of struggle, he and I can do all things through Christ who is our strength. In short, I have enough. The difficulty is putting aside those shoes that no longer fit, and in truth for years haven’t and walking in what God has for me in this season. It starts with laying aside the shame of the kid who thought he didn’t have enough.
As the clock chases closer to midnight, I continue to sort through the bag of my life. Tucked in the top pocket is a handful of heartbreak. Like shattered pieces of glass from a kaleidoscope of mirrors, I hold them in my hand. Despite all the pieces, it will never be put back together. My jagged reflection staring back off the broken pieces almost speaks to me of how I have felt as if I was unworthy of being whole, that I would always have to be broken.
Dumping out the pieces on the once shiny insecurities and the worn out shoes of shame, I watch as each piece reflects back a man who is learning he is worthy of being loved. As I lay the shattered pieces of life to the side, I remind myself that I don’t have to live broken.
Rearranging the pieces of life and love that I will take with me into 2024, I make sure my bag is only half packed leaving room to acquire new articles of life on this circle around the sun. I am leaving room for new friends, new adventures, and new experiences. Taking with me the wisdom of years gone by that I do not have to lug around the luggage of my past. I can simply unpack them and leave them behind.
In the distance “may old acquaintances be forgot” is being sung and I am going to kiss my wife at the strike of midnight with the luggage of life a little lighter walking into the new year.
