The new year births changemakers intent on forming new habits, building new dreams, and launching new ventures. New rhythms designed to bring peace and solve problems trend hot, yet I spiral cold, overwhelmed with volumes of possibility.

I don’t want new; I long for old. I favor handheld books instead of devices. Weathered and cracked Bibles capture my attention. The ones worn from overuse, featuring tattered pages smudged from tears, spine bent, sections stained and taped with hope and despair, hold appeal.

In our beginnings, God gave us His breath for life. Jesus came and gave up his breath for our eternal lives. We’re born into the gloaming, balancing breath between birth and death; peace and chaos; and light and dark.

Living on life’s balance beam, as dusk settles along tree lines and cityscapes, we might forget lessons learned from early failures. Failure remains one of my greatest teachers, and she often whispers reminders.

The older we get, the less we can see and lift. Ask anyone over forty-five years old. Readers or bifocals become commonplace as we admit age steals sight and strength. Gravity assaults and changes physiques.

Yet regardless of age, we often need help seeing, working, or envisioning God-given beauty. Sometimes only others can enhance dimmed vision and reveal unseen details.

Children love hiding, under blanket forts or in freezer boxes, in places where feelings outweigh cost. Hallways echo with laughter and steps as parents race after wobbly legs. When the lost are found, protective arms encircle warm skin, and tender hearts quieten in solace. As time passes hands open, and children learn to choose and grow and venture out.

As world noises converge in chaos, I seek serenity. Pressed in the anvil of life, gripped between divergent opinions, needs, and concerns and my quest for beauty, peace, and calm, my heart leans inward, seeking voids without echoes.

Silence provides space to wrestle with life.

As I was leaving the neurosurgeon’s office for the last time, I asked, “Do you have any advice for me? Is there anything I’m supposed to do?” Terrified and filled with fear and uncertainty after a car accident, head surgery, and extensive recovery time, I could not voice the real questions … What if an errant hockey puck hit my head? What if a child throwing balls hit my skull’s fractured indention, a permanent memento from my surgery. What if I developed another brain bleed?

When I was little, I thought my parents had eyes attached to their skulls instead of hair. Multiple eyes always watching when I did bad things. Have you ever wondered if we carry those childlike thoughts with us into adulthood?

God only sees me when I’m bad.