The year is over. A new one starts tomorrow.
Why is it that we celebrate these beginnings and endings? I don't think the animals notice, or the trees. Toddlers too are oblivious. But we grownups seem riveted to the precise measurements
of years, days, hours.
I personally do not believe there will be so much fuss about it in heaven. Eternity will stretch out like the ocean, no particular separation between sections of water or living.
But there are other signs of movement that grizzly bears and maples, and the
Pacific pay attention to. The seasons are portals that mark those reliable shifts of current, and hibernation, and hue.
I am hoping this new year will bring a fresh current in my family. I am still riveted to measuring insubstantial things like who did more dishes. Can I let that hibernate awhile? My eyes are poised for signs of bright color in my appreciation for John. I know he does not
always put things away, but can I redirect my attention to the yummy omelettes he prepared for breakfast?
Arbitrary milestones like a passing year serve by reminding us to look around and notice how far we have come. Then we stand a better chance of recalibrating our direction. I may have a long history of kvetching about abandoned bowls.
But a pristine day is waiting for me when I wake up.
