It’s easy to look around on holidays where we are supposed to express gratitude and fondness and sense our lack. How do we think well about the ones who resist loving us, recoil against us, or remind us of what has been lost?

Navigating the familiar trail this morning, the thought occurred to me how safe and at ease I typically am there, and yet, there was a surprising anxiety that registered in the pit of my stomach. I’ve never broken a bone in my life, or faced any other significant injuries, so the sudden realization that I could easily slip and twist my knee distracted me with fear momentarily.

And then the moments of shared reality — "You too? You have that scar too? Oh dear Jesus, thank you. I thought something was wrong with me. I had no idea. Will you pray for me? Can I pray for you?” The relief of being loved and known in the darkest parts of who we had become to survive.

Once the shared meals, special church services, and egg hunts have passed, we probably find ourselves quickly shifting back to normal routines. How might we hang onto the hope of Easter as we go back to the office or turn into the pick up line at our child’s school?

Nature’s small adjustments, evidenced by the onset of each new season, help us to notice that our smallness is actually a gift.

I’ve regularly prayed that God would keep me humble, quiet, and small. Because I know my heart is drawn to desire attention and to find my value in how others view me. The interesting thing is that the more I have grown at ease with my smallness, the more confident and comfortable I’ve become with who I am. I’m more “at home” with myself than I’ve ever been, and I feel like my truest self.

Some weights build up in us until we can bear no more and something has to fall away to the ground, so that new greens can sprout forth. For some of us it has been deep insecurities going back whole lifetimes or wounds from hurts we never let heal until it was too late. For others, an unsurrendering posture toward the risks God calls us to take in using our gifts.

I typically have an aversion to doing anything simply because someone told me to do it, especially when it comes to spiritual matters. I sense a strange pull of always wanting to follow the rules, but never wanting to do so out of compulsion. The first few times I encountered this prayer, that last line made me uncomfortable.

These places of unanswered questions, silenced longings for right to win and lingering doubts about the intentions of others. These places demand retreat. We can only endure them for so long before we begin to crack.

How do we learn to live with regrets apart from bitterness? Especially if we feel as if we’ve somehow missed God’s plan or intentions for our lives somehow. When the calendar turns over to a new year, we often find ourselves looking back with a measure of regret.