Tonight, I welcome the new decade with an overfull belly and a sweet kiss from my one and only. It feels like the last rep of a long workout or the last class of college: belated. Not deflated so much as awaiting air.
2020 will be a year of freedom. Of running and breathing easy, of hands that create, of heart as strong as muscle. Even as my body reminds me of its weakness right now, I feel surrounded by a cloud of wonder. The world is full of mysteries: as big as everything that frightens me and as small as one warm dog. It’s full of living things that can only move forward one cell division at a time.
I love resolutions. This year, I hope to run a marathon, take my beauty routine to the next level, and write a bunch of blog posts. There are lots of other things I would like to do–worthy things, like volunteer regularly and achieve a sustainable lean body weight. But the big three, well, they’re the big three. And something bigger eclipses all of them.
2020 is a reminder that I am part of a grander story. Somewhere in that story is learning to speak about my Christian identity in the same way I’m learning to live as a woman, without using distancing language or hedging my bets. Somewhere in this story is the glory of God.
At key junctures in my life, from some instinct far deeper than habits can explain, I return to bend the knee before my God. It’s who I am, irrevocably, life and body. We promised each other as much, and while our promises are not worth the same we are bound together still.