I just glanced again at the goals I had set for 2017.
I started strong. First quarter progress was great. And then February threatened to kill me like it always does, but this year it almost succeeded. There were some emotional blows that left me reeling. Still, I kept hammering at my goals.
Spring brought more heartache. Summer was a whirlwind of travel and kid’s stuff. We capped it off by making one of the hardest decisions I’ve had to make when we realized it was time to leave our church.
This fall/early winter, I’ve been trying to put all the pieces back together. They aren’t all there yet. I feel awkward. Out of place. I feel like I’m not sure I know myself or anyone else, for that matter.
So, those goals I set? I don’t even recognize the person that set them anymore. Time travel is the only thing that could cause me to achieve what I hoped. If I had known how things would go down this year, I might have made different goals.
But God. There’s always a “but God” that changes the entire story arc. That’s what I’m seeing a glimpse of these days. That’s what I’m holding out hope for. I think He wanted me to look less at the people around me and more on Him.
I picked a verse at the beginning of the year:
“You will keep the mind that is dependent on you in perfect peace, for it is trusting in you.” Isaiah 26:3
The treasure in the middle of this year has been that truth.
That’s why I have hope for 2018.