Happy New Year!
The fact that I’m sitting at my desk writing this right now is a miracle. I’ve been sick with some virus for about two weeks, and it’s taken me out. I had to skip half of our Christmas plans and only crawled through the other half with the help of hot tea and cough drops.
You probably didn’t even notice, but that’s why you haven’t heard from me in a couple of weeks. And why this newsletter will probably be short and to the point. I feel pretty rusty and exhausted. (So just a heads-up for new subscribers, my future letters will be better than this—thanks for your grace. :))
But I thought the second day of the year was the perfect time to send a little letter about the art of remembering.
I’m writing this during the weird, beautiful, disappointing week between Christmas and New Year’s. I usually find it pretty disappointing because there’s all this build-up to Christmas, but then the anticipation dies on December 26th. The world seems ready to keep on moving, but I never am. I want to take another few days (or longer) to sit and just be. To rest, to focus on my family, to worship, and to enjoy the fruits of the years’ labor.
In a couple of days, my friend is hosting a little “vision board” night, where we’ll collage our vision (goals, plans, etc.) for 2024. But as I think ahead to 2024, my vision feels blurry and confused. Part of that is that I haven’t taken the time to reflect on this year. I don’t even know where I am, let alone where I want to go.
I loved this quote from my favorite prayer app, Lectio365, this week:
“Remembering is the key to rejoicing, and rejoicing is the key to finding faith for the coming year.”
Remembering the past helps us find hope for the future.
You might remember this year and realize how far you’ve actually come. You might remember that the battles you were facing are over now. Or that prayers you prayed were answered. Or, you may remember this year and think about all the prayers that weren’t answered, and all the battles that are still raging. The main emotion you might be feeling as we end 2023 is disappointment or anger or grief.
This is when remembering gets really frustrating (in my experience, at least). Because when I really dig deep and practice the art of remembering in a genuine, unbiased way, there are always glimmers of hope.
Even if the grief outweighs the hope 10x, the hope is still there. Even when the disappointment is shouting, I can hear hope’s faint whispers.
Remembering keeps me clinging to hope and faith, if even by a thread. Even when my stubborn heart wants to stay hopeless, remembering leaves me no choice but to keep believing.
When we remember situations that felt hopeless in the moment but now we’ve made it past them, hope rises. When we take time to count all the beautiful things we’ve experienced, it’s hard not to feel thankful. And even when we realize some aspects of our lives still need hope, we can trust (even through tears and grief and anger and fear) that it’s coming.
Here are some questions I’m asking myself this week to practice the art of remembering:
What’s something I never thought I could make it through this year, but I did?
What were some of the most beautiful moments of the year?
What were the hardest moments?
What did I learn this year (the easy way or the hard way)?
What’s something I hoped for this year that didn’t end up happening (so maybe that I’m continually hoping for in the coming year)?
Book Progress*
Sadly, book progress has been pretty non-existent in the past couple weeks of being so sick. I did some work to finalize the first couple chapters, but that’s it. Luckily, I anticipated doing a little less during the holidays, so I’m not too far behind. I’m hoping I’ll feel better this week and be able to sneak in a few writing sessions while Greta plays! I need to try and knock out another chapter before next weekend to stay in line with my goal.
I really want to be able to share the topic of the book with you all—which is the incentive I set for myself if I can get the entire first draft of the book done by the end of January! Pray for me—I’ll need it.
*If you’re a new subscriber, welcome! I’m currently writing my first book that I plan to self-publish later this year. So each week, I’m sharing a little behind-the-scenes of my process and even occasionally asking for feedback! I love bringing you in to this wild process. Thanks for being here and supporting my work!
Five Faves
Gilmore Girls. Whyyyy did I not start watching this show earlier? I don’t know. But it’s my new favorite comfort show. It feels like warm coffee and a soft blanket.
Keeping the tree up a few weeks longer than I probably should. The living room always feels so bare and cold without the twinkly lights! (In college, Josiah and I were known to keep our tree up past Valentine’s Day. I’ll admit, that was a little much.)
Stocking the pantry with soup and chili stuff all winter. I’ve already shared my favorite soup recipe, but it’s worth sharing again. We make it every week. And I recently learned how easy it is to make chili, so that’s been a weekly staple for us, too. Both are great reheated for lunch!
Big scarves. I got a new giant scarf from a local boutique and it’s been my favorite accessory this winter. Also extremely practical for cold days.
Making a vision board for the year. I’m usually not one to get super into New Year’s resolutions (goals and plans stress me out). But getting together with friends to make these was so fun! I love having something visual to keep me focused on what really matters. And let’s admit it, crafts are just plain fun.
Here’s to remembering 2023 and carrying hope into 2024.
See you on Instagram tomorrow and in your inbox next week,
Sarah
p.s., You have blown me away. It was my big stretch goal to end the year with 100 newsletter subscribers, and I ended with 117! What?!!! I can’t even believe it. That was a huge glimmer of hope for me. Thank you so much for your support. As someone who dreams of becoming an author and getting a book traditionally published one day, the size of my readership matters in the opportunities I might get. And just personally knowing that 117 people care enough about what I’m writing to give me space in your inbox means more than you know. I couldn’t thank you enough. Thank you, thank you, thank you.