2015 closing words.

Have you ever had a word for the year? Sort of like a theme—running through your year, showing up in the strangest of places and ways?

I haven’t had many. 2014 may have been a year of provision. It was certainly a theme that kept coming up again and again. 2013 was a “return”, but was otherwise a scattered and staggeringly beautiful year. 2012, a sabbath year. 2011, a too-busy-for-my-own-good year (hence the following sabbath year…). 2010, a year to fall in love. 2009—well, that was the first year I was introduced to having a word for the year. My roommate mentioned it as our first semester of life together at college drew to a close, and so then I started looking for it. The problem was, I never really documented. I’ve been writing for years, but never as organized as I am currently.

But 2015 started off with many words. I got a lot of time to write, as I shifted into a routine at home, freshly graduated with little else to do, and He started speaking over what the year would hold. First, a poem: 

 Trust

trust stirs in me like a sleeping giant, 

aroused from a quiet year of bounty & favor, where trust was restful and sweet 

met with lullabies of grace & provision 

but now it must 

AWAKE

ARISE 

sound the alarm as never before 

for the soil is rich, but rocky 

the heights are breathtaking, but steep 

the victory is won, but long and raging still

so trust becomes a banner 

over branches barrenly alive 

connected to burrowed roots in familiar soil 

being grown down 

deeply settled in a land not its own

the heat comes

the drought lengthens 

but trust makes all the difference 

as leaves remain green and fruit begins to bud

the banner is unfurled like the dawning of the sun 

and my heart is steadied, 

renewed by this unfolding of Your words

new words for a new year

And before I knew it, a word arose out of that poem: Banner. 

I remember searching through my Bible, finding every passage that mentions the word. I remember scribbling down thought after thought of what I felt He was saying. Months later, on my new laptop—I pulled those claims together into a document on here (because, let’s be real, I couldn’t pack “just one more” journal).

“No matter what happens, if you abide this close to me, I will enable you to keep doing what you are meant to do, no matter what circumstances try to prevent it.” (1/20) 

a banner over a battle not yet raging:
“Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, who makes the Lord His trust. He is like a tree planed by water, that sends out its roots by the stream, and does not fear when heat comes, from its leaves remain green, and it is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit.” Jer. 17.7-8 

“This year, instead of resolving to finally get it right, let’s resolve to walk with Him as He makes it right. Instead of determining to get better, let’s determine to get closer to Him thru His word. Instead of making a list of all that we will do on our own, let’s notice all that He is already doing and let’s join Him in that.” (she reads truth, 12/29/14) 

BANNER CLAIMS::
Set up in the name of my God, with joy —psalm 20
Set up that others may flee to it  —psalm 60
Set up to be declared among the nations & not to be concealed —jeremiah 50.2
His banner over me is love —song of songs 2.4
The LORD is my banner  —Exodus 17 

You sang these words over me. In unexpected grace. I stumbled over it in a wilderness day. A “funk” day. You always meet me over it. Thank you, Father, for not letting me go. For always waking me up with joy. You are so good. Keep me close. I love you.

I scribbled and I tried to capture these words. I tried to hold them, but I never really felt them. I saw them, beautifully appear in people’s prayers and in scripture, but they still felt far off. Until well over halfway through the year, when I finally hit the ground back in this place I love—and the battle that was “not yet raging” began. With more force than I expected. With more furor than I ever could have imagined. I lifted that word afresh, not just for myself, but for a lot of other people. I lifted it over a larger struggle. 

But, weeks later, I realized the battle was a lot more personal than I gave it credit for—a battle of identity, of calling, of worth. Insecurity was clawing at my banner. And I felt powerless. Psalm 60.4-5 arose with full desperation—

You set up a banner for those who fear you,

that they may flee to it from the bow

(that it might be displayed because of truth);

that your beloved ones may be delivered,

give salvation by your right hand

and answer us.

And I’ve spent the past two months raising that banner, hearing Him sing His song of victory over it all. This morning, He sang afresh, a song to close the year, but not the battle—

through the tempest

You are taking us—

Not above, around, or before.

through its darkness,

its pain, its sorrow,

its bitter winds 

that beat against us,

silencing our cries and our songs.

through the tempest

You are taking us.

Not to punish us 

or to rip us apart by its gales,

but to establish us, secure us, 

to anchor us in its force. 

to set us upon the rock

its very meanness thrashes us upon.

through the tempest

You are taking us—

Not below, behind, or beside.

And when it passes, when it calms,

when its waves grow quiet 

under your morning song,

that’s when we will hear its sweet melody,

that was beckoning forth your song all along.

No, the battle rages still. The banner is still hovering. New words are coming (I’ll post ‘em soon enough). But for now, I rest. For tonight, I let the battle lull me to sleep. His arms uphold mine. His victory remains sure. And 2016 will come, quietly stealing its way onto this familiar battlefield. But with renewed mercy. And hope. And promises. 

And the bottom line for any year? He’s good and He’s faithful. Let’s cease striving there, now.