Dear 2019 Me (You)

Author:  Rachelle Rieke
 
It’s here. Another year gone by, another one come. I hope you read back and remember this morning, this sweet and quiet new start. I hope you remember this cotton candy morning, another new day God has given you, reminding you with His colorful canvas sky, that you are His true canvas, His true masterwork.
 
Remember the sunshine streaming through the window, pooling up in golden shapes on the floor and splashing up the wall. Remember how your schefflera plant catches the light on its emerald umbrellas, causing them to shine. Or how your eyelashes catch the light, making them flicker in your peripherals. The light reveals their true beauty – remember how you squint to look at them directly, and the illumination causes them to glow iridescent like abalone or butterfly wings. Remember how you have never noticed that before. 
 
Remember the feeling of the light, the bright hope and warm joy, the brilliant peace bathing your face, your skin. Reach out and grab this light, wrap it around yourself, a protection from tomorrow’s dark. Remember how your skin shines and your hair gleams golden. You are made for the light, and you are made to shine. I hope you always remember the One who inhabits every individual mote and wave of this light – billowing waves to sweep away the clinging dark. 
 
I hope you wear the freshness of this new morning for the rest of the year, the rest of your life. I hope you forgive yourself in this moment and don’t look back. I hope you forgive yourself for what you did and everything you failed to do. Look back only to see how far you’ve come, to remember you are not where you once were. 
 
I hope when February or March moves in and the light of this morning seems dim, and the well-intentioned resolutions wane in the tedium of routine, you look closer. Look closer to notice the crimson of the cardinal’s regal breast perched in stark defiance of winter gray; to smell the delicious butterscotch of pines on a woody walk as they reach down and ask you to stay awhile; to marvel at the roughness of your cat’s sandpaper tongue and however it works to keep him downy and bright white; to savor the swallow of hot coffee, tracking its path down your throat until it reaches your stomach, and like an explosion, somehow radiates throughout the rest of your body; to notice the words spoken or printed that spark in your soul, to feel the power of them deeply, reverently. To notice
 
Remember to breathe, to pause, to notice actively, and to search for the little ordinaries that make living extraordinary. 
 
I hope you remember your dreams and press forward when they get too big. Remember the stone. 
 
Most of all, I hope you remember to love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world
 
#7
 
What I loved in the beginning, I think, was mostly myself. 
Never mind that I had to, since somebody had to. 
That was many years ago.
Since then I have gone out from my confinements,
    though with difficulty.
 
I mean the ones that thought to rule my heart.
I cast them out, I put them on the mush pile.
They will be nourishment somehow (everything is nourishment
    somehow or another).
 
And I have become the child of the clouds, and of hope. 
I have become the friend of the enemy, whoever that is. 
I have become older and, cherishing what I have learned,
I have become younger. 
 
And what do I risk to tell you this, which is all I know?
Love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world.
 
Poem excerpt by: Mary Oliver from ‘To Begin With,  the Sweet Grass’
 
Happy New Year Destiny! May your year be blessed and abundant!
 
Image taken from: https://littleteensblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/01/start-1200×677.png
 
 

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