The new year approached through a haze of fairy lights, family noise, and Nyquil. It fought through mounds of wrapping paper. It curled past feverish bodies and thick knit blankets. It rose with the flames licking the brick in the fireplace.
Everywhere I looked in my sniffling, sick state, the new year met me.
When I tried to grasp it, hold it up to the light, and turn it over in my hands, it disappeared. A moment of clarity and vision for the year would arrive, and then dissipate like smoke as soon as I lay claim to it.
To read the rest of the story about learning how to hold tight to the things that matter, join me at Grace Table.
