I sat in the airport three nights ago and watched the sweetest little couple. You know the kind I am talking about. He with his chinos on, polo tucked in too high, reading a magazine. He cleaned his glasses once, twice, then put them back across the bridge of his nose. Clean now, but still crooked. I’d imagine they always sneak into that crack in the sofa, and he likely sits on them before he finds them again.
They didn’t have their wedding rings on, but you don’t need them at their age. Love and marriage aren’t about the shiny baubles that adorn the ring finger of women today, an accessory taken on and off when the mood, the day, the outfit dictates it.
She sat next to him and watched the world walk by, everyone else on their way to something, and looking very important while they do it. No book, no phone, no laptop. Just a quiet stillness in the middle of that holiday mess.
I sat and I wondered what their new year resolutions used to be.
What they would do differently.
What they did perfectly.
Because that night, while the rest of us were clamoring to decide what the next year was going to look like, they were simply resting in that moment.
Yesterday, you felt that quiet pressure. December 31st. You’re actively avoiding eye contact with the christmas tree, the floor below littered with needles. Baby Jesus and the nativity are back in the box. There’s a stack of presents to be returned, the dog still needs a hair cut, and your sister left a set of earrings behind on the table in the guest bedroom.
The shiny new year loomed hours away and while everyone else was texting about sequins and champagne, parties and pasta, you couldn’t figure out how tomorrow was going to look different than today.
And perhaps last night, when someone inevitably asked what you wanted out of the year, you fabricated some pretty goal of success at work, a size 4, a baby, an MBA. You drank to those resolutions, to the sparkle of the new year.
And, if you are anything like me, you fell asleep wondering what the real answers are to all of the new year’s questions.
Have I saved enough?
Am I doing it well enough?
Have I achieved enough?
Am I beautiful enough?
I want to grab that. Be that. Claim that. Make it mine.
Enough, that is.
But adequacy, sufficiency, satisfaction? THAT sounds like an unachievable trifecta, markers on the road of broken resolutions. I’m striving to be that?
I’m not sure I can be enough. I’m not so sure you can either.
But I sat and I watched that sweet little couple and I thought, if anything, maybe they’ve figured out this:
There is no resolution that turns all of you into enough.
But hang on just one second. There’s more to this than that.
You hang on and I’ll hang on and together we’ll consider this.
There is no resolution that turns all of you into enough, but there is a relationship that does.
THERE IS A RELATIONSHIP THAT DOES.
All of that.
The King does ALL OF THAT for me. For you.
There’s a cross in the middle of that trifecta and it’s enough.
Tullian Tchividjian, he’s figured it out too. “Because Jesus was strong for me, I was free to be weak; because Jesus won for me, I was free to lose; because Jesus was someone, I was free to be no one; because Jesus was extraordinary, I was free to be ordinary; because Jesus succeeded for me, I was free to fail.”
Can you hear the freedom in that? Do you hear the resolution in that?
I read THAT, and it lead me to THIS.
I am free to do NONE of it, because He’s already done ALL of it.
Tomorrow, or the next day, someone is going to ask me what I want in the new year. And I’ve set goals, picked mountains, chosen challenges. I’ll have written them down, I’ll tell you all about them, and I’ll slowly cross them off of my list. Some will work out, and some won’t, and there will be nothing but beauty in that mess of achieved and broken resolutions.