January 10, 2023

Lake Tahoe and Fallen Leaf Lake, California

My new year didn’t start off with a bang. Well — aside from some fireworks that shone bright, like all my high hopes, in the 2023 sky. This year, I made no resolutions, no new habits, and found no solitary ‘word’ sufficient enough to guide me through my next twelve months. My new year started off plainly— in the company of friends and with a cup of Thai tea. (Thai tea is delicious, by the way.)

Barely a week into January, and I’ve also made a mess of my home. The dishes are, once again, piled high in the sink. There’s new carpet in my bedroom, but my bed itself sits in the living room. Dresses hang idly from lopsided hangers — flat across the guest room bed, instead of in my closet. However, my alarm clock is in the closet, sitting high atop a pile of folded sweaters. My framed sunrise photo of Fallen Leaf Lake, California is stacked on my kitchen table. So is my jewelry box. And my bedside lamp is… actually, where is my lamp?

Just like that, disorganization has burrowed its way into my January, finding comfort and refuge between the four walls and littered floorboards of my tiny, quaint home.

Even better: I turn 31 this weekend. But come Saturday, I might still be sleeping on stacked mattresses in the living room.

I don’t necessarily want to ring in my birthday on the living room floor. But I’m realizing this possibility also speaks to a deeper yearning that I seem to always carry: for the day that not only my room/house/kitchen, but my entire life, feels finally put together, complete, and unbroken.

I haven’t quite figured out how to navigate this— this in-between, this messy middle, this life full of seams and uneven sutures. Except that I’ve just kept living, despite it. I resist the inner voice that chides, telling me that life must be perfect in order for it to be worthy. That I can’t enjoy my life as it is, longings and all. But, deep joy and unruly clutter can exist simultaneously, and for that I am grateful. God is writing a story more beautiful than I could imagine, and more impactful than I know.

This is true for every child of God.

Come Saturday, I might really still be sleeping on stacked mattresses in the living room. But I’ll wake up and there will be a cat at my feet, soft blankets around my legs, and light beaming through my windows.

And I’m going to be perfectly pleased with it.