The quiet morning is unstirred as I walk around the house, making sure to step where no loose baseboard might find me out. The girls are snuggled in, Tasha and Cocoa too. I’ll try my hand at a strawberry galette while no one is looking.
I am having my Sumatra roast coffee and tying up loose ends. Reviewing to-do lists, and checking the kitchen supplies for today’s culinary adventures.
Bella turns 12 today. Where did 12 years go? Time slips through the sieve, pouring out, and though in my consciousness I hold each moment precious, still it seems I can’t slow the clock.
What will it all mean when I come to my last journal entry? What will remain? To the world, I am convinced, nothing. Nothing at all. But perhaps to these girls, an echo. Possibly there will be days, after I am gone, where a picture or a video or a recipe or piece of prose will be of some comfort.
I hope my time spent on these things – the documentary of their lives, the painstakingly organized digital assets of our experiences – are not all in vain. But I doubt I should ever know. I can only choose to do these things or not do them. And to that end, I choose to do.
Still, life moves so fast and who has time to sit and reminisce? Who has time to pour over journals from the 1900’s and escape into the thoughts of a man long gone? A man of modest means, simple thoughts, and little reach beyond a patch of Bluegrass he called his own.
At the very core of all of this, I suppose, I just want to know that my girls are OK. That they have found not only themselves, as Daughters of the Most High, but also their place in this world – a place that can be cruel and beautiful at the same time. That they may be humble and proud at the same time. Meek, gentle, and fierce at the same time. That they will not stand for manipulation, coercion, or _______. That they will carry the light.
I find myself ready and exilerated to face the tasks of 2026. Daily I will commit myself to making a vocal and evidentiary example of what God has called us to become. Planting seeds around this household that will hopefully, some day, take root in good soil. Perhaps the most beautiful and perplexing thing of all, is that while I am availed to that task, I am myself shedding the parts of my own self that the Maker sees fit to discard. I am but clay, being molded and made more true through every experience where I try my hand at loving. God knows I make a fine mess of it all – I am not that good at it. But at each turn, the Father corrects, shapes, and purifies my efforts. Some days the clay is formed in the most subtle way – and some days it is by blunt force.
Here is to a year of formation, and not summation. For my girls, my beautiful Wife, and for me. My prayer is that we find what we need and not what we necessarily want. That we turn to the quiet, slow, rhythmic pulse of God’s love, and away from the frantic, impulsive and selfish impulses of the World. I know that is a tall order, but all of these things are made possible by the One who has called us according to His purpose.