I know I’m not the only joker ready to close the book on 2017.  It’s definitely been a year with more ups and downs than a childhood board game of Chutes and Ladders, with the blasted king-sized chute space getting landed on more often than I can count on my appendages.  “I rolled a 6, maybe I’ll make it to the ladder that sets me in the lead!” and…bam.  Precise number for the chute that slides you back 278 spaces. How could we have gotten that so perfectly right so.many.times in one given space of a year? It seemed to me that by and large this year was a drudge match where movement from space to space on the game board of life was like slow motion through quickcrete, except when landing on the chute that took you for one heck of a ride while clinging to the sides for dear life.  Yet most of us made it.  Many of you can fill in the blank for that which so wore you out.

2017 is a punk because_________________________.

(There is no word bank for this test because it would take up thirteen pages, and “all of the above” is an acceptable answer.)

However, it wasn’t all bad all the way, and I don’t want to be the Debbie Downer that the above word waterfall portrayed me to be.  I know of many beautiful, good, and wonderful things that happened, both personally and for others, too.  And of days that were over too soon and felt nothing short of spectacular…they were there, too.  (You landed on a ladder space–proceed four rows!) Nothing is ever all bad, right? There’s light in everything if you look hard enough.  Sure, it can be a tiny speck of light, but it’s there nonetheless.  Whether you are honest to your heart and admit it or not…

Except cellulite.  Cellulite is always bad.  No light there.  NOT ONE IOTA. Ok, except in the word itself. But still.

I don’t usually do resolutions because they are super confining and I try to avoid things like that.  You know: elevators with lots of people, spanx, writing events on my calendar in pen…

But this year, I feel compelled to put a bit of constraint on myself and define what I’d like to do to see 2018 be little bit better.  At least my contribution to the world be a little bit better.  That is to extend the same LACK of confinement that I willfully, joyfully, without thought offer myself to others.  In other words, GRACE.  I’m not just including the one that sleeps next to me in bed or those other ones that breathe (and eat all of my food) (and take away all my rest) (and drive me to drink wine) under my roof.  That includes those closest to me outside these 4 walls I reside (you know, the people who I’m prone to think (mostly) like and look (mostly) like and like things alike), too.  But mostly I desire to proffer grace to those I’d be least like.  By that I mean those with opposing view points, differing parenting styles, contrasting politics, incorrect (ha :)) collegiate football supporters…any of the things that can leave any one of us “offended” “dumbfounded” “perplexed” “confused”, etc.  And I’m going to TRY to offer that grace with NO strings attached.  I’m not going to try to understand why (because that can imply that I know it all), or how in the world it could be such (because the world is so big. so very, very big), or why one thinks the way he or she does (that is never to be understood all the way this side of heaven), or that I can fix it (that implies that I think I’m the source of all the right answers).  I just want to make it a little bit easier to love and be loved.  I’m not going to be perfect at doing it, but my heart desires to do it with love and grace and mostly FUN.

So as this year is quickly coming to a close (like, hours left on the east coast), I’m certainly hoping for a better 2018.  At least from my backyard. I mean it has to. I bought one of those cute flippy sequin shirts to wear, I don’t know, somewhere tonight being that it’s NEW YEAR’S EVE and all, but instead I’ve got on PJ’s as my hubby recovers from some sort of violent attack on his digestive track.  That I can NOT offer any love to, and not a lick of light resides in that sort of thing. So that makes two things with no light in them.  Ok, unless the ensuing weight loss after the GI assault is light to you.  And then you might “feel” light (I know, I know, I’m so punny).

(please notice the adorably painted single nail, as well)

But for some strange reason, I just think 2018 will be coming up roses…

GO DAWGS!!!!!!!!