So, 2016. Can you even believe it?
I know I'm a bit late to the write-about-my-goals-for-the-new-year game, but I'm here and I'm ready to chat.
As you may know, I am what one might call "TYPE A" to the max. Goal-setting, list-making, thought-processing, big-idea-ing; charts and graphs and spreadsheets and everything color-coded--that's my zone. I revel in all things organized. But for some reason, when it comes to the new year I balk. Choosing a word, setting a pace, committing to things FOR THE ENTIRE NEXT YEAR seems daunting with a side of insurmountable pressure. It feels like a giant set-up, more like a plan to quit something than to start something. Perhaps it's because I'm so goal-oriented that I have trouble with the "new year's resolution"--a lost forest in the trees situation.
I closed out 2015 with no intentions of choosing a word or any resolutions for the new year. Sure, I had goals. I always have those. But I like my goals like I like my dishes--finished quickly.
Well, that all changed on New Year's Eve. Now, I'm going to tell you a story that I'm not even a little bit proud of. It's a funny story, but it's also quite embarrassing, and the experience changed everything for me going into 2016.
My husband and I had been invited to a fancy dinner party with two other couples for the evening. I almost declined the invitation because high heels and nylons, but then I heard that lobster bisque and filet mignon were on the menu. I will definitely put on a dress for someone else to cook fancy food for me (but you can bet all the salad forks in the world that I sneaked away right after dinner and put on pajamas).
We had just gotten in the car, my husband, two friends, and I, and were on our way to our hosts' home. It was dark and cold, I was in heels and a coat and trying to get my seat belt on whilst moving around my ginormous bag (stuffed with pajamas). And then I saw it. Smoothly sinister, gracefully dropping from the ceiling of my car on a delicate string--a quarter sized spider was visible by the headlights of a passing car.
To put it simply, I freaked the eff out. I started whooping and hollering AND THEN I OPENED THE PASSENGER DOOR. Yes. You read that right. My husband was driving at 45 miles an hour and I opened the car door as if to jump out of the car. Because of a spider.
My husband was able to pull over and I jumped out of the car (once it had stopped). He was so very gracious with me; my two friends in the backseat, on the other hand, were all laugh-crying emoji faces.
I stood outside, in the cold, clutching my huge tote bag as my husband tried to kill the spider with his shoe. I watched a few cars drive by (I'm sure they were thinking that my NYE had started waaay early) and my friends chortling in the backseat.
I was so scared of that spider. And I was being completely ridiculous. I eventually got back in the car and we laughed about the whole ridiculous experience. But I couldn't stop thinking about it on our drive. That whole absurd decision had been driven by fear.
I thought about what it would have looked liked to react with courage instead of fear. I thought about how most of my life had been shaped by reacting in fear: fear of what others think about me, fear of failure, fear of missing out, fear of pain or discomfort, fear of not being in control.
I decided right then and there that I wanted my life to be marked by bravery, and not by fear. But I knew that this bravery was not coming from me--there is nothing about me that makes me brave, everything points to Jesus and only through Him can I claim power over fear.
So, for 2016 my word is “unafraid”. As I continue on in my 30th year, my goal is to be #30andunafraid.
Want to know what the funniest part of all of this is? It scares me like whoa. It’s almost as hilarious as the fact that we never found that spider in my car… 😳