What Held True in the Flames (January Downloads)
Joy had something more to say... (two prints & lock screens for you)
My eyes are stinging and I haven’t even started typing.
I’ve never had a “verse of the year” but I posted about Romans 15:13 in January of 2022, thought of it every single week, and even put it on my Christmas card to close the year. And so it became the first one, and then decided to hold onto its one and only place until a new one arrived in late 2023—but we’ll get to that.
I did have a word of the year in 2022, though: Joy.
Somewhere around October or November of 2022, I saw a particular word and knew—that’s it. That’s the one to lean into and learn from, to sit with and dwell on.
Joy wasn’t done. It had something more to say.
From my January 6, 2023 post:
This is the next step, the challenge AND the invitation, the thing I’m determined to do no matter what 2023 brings: Rejoice.
None of my friends would say I was a light and breezy bundle of joy all year long, but they’ll tell you I dug my nails in and refused to stop looking for it, declared I was all out of it and said I’ll get my hopes up anyway, believe for it anyway. Honestly? I think the waves are gonna keep on coming. Honestly? I’m so weary. I’ve wrestled through the night, and I don’t mean that metaphorically, but I’m going to choose to rejoice even if it’s a fight. I’ll keep looking, confident that God’s goodness will be on these pages of the Story too. Joy, re-joy, rejoice.
(The stinging has turned to tears running, so we’re doing great.)
I had a hunch. But also I had no idea.
What I mean is, if you laid out for me that day what the rest of the year would hold—the lies that would be told, the losses that would accumulate, the shockwaves that would ripple out, the unchosen changes and the unwanted newness that would be there waiting each day, the attempted break-in, the diagnosis, the weekly trips to a haunted house (metaphor, but I think you know), the fire and the ashes and the shards that still cut from all that shattered in the blaze—well, I would have said absolutely no way.
Waves? Yes. A longer wrestle in the dark of night? Probably.
But—what 2023 held? No way, never, couldn’t be.
“I’m going to choose to rejoice even if it’s a fight.”
Joy. Re-joy. Rejoice.
January: “I’ll Hold It With You”
March: The Storm Is Never The End of the Story
April: For When You’re Still Waiting on a Miracle…
June: Here’s the Promise: Goodness Will Chase You Down
August: Good News: One Day, the Sea Will Be No More
September: For When You Find Yourself Asking God “How Much Longer?”
November: Next Time You Feel Alone, Picture This…
December: For When The Storm Just Won’t Let Up
Also: Over the course of 2023, in All The Things we read and discussed Growing Slow, What If It’s Wonderful?, Whose Waves These Are, Fiercehearted, and What Cannot Be Lost. In the months in between, I designed each of these as prints and lock screens—string the sentences together and they tell their own story. (Which is astounding, really, because some of them came from phrases you voted on or quotes mentioned on a Zoom call.) (God is in the details.) (The May design sits on my desk and has remained my lock screen since the day I sent it out. Each one is created with you in mind, but after seeing it what must be an actual ten thousand times now, I can say without a doubt I needed the words just as much.)
I knew but I didn’t. I had a hunch. I had no idea.
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him,
so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
- Romans 15:13
The first print of 2023 was designed in a hospital room. The day after the not-how-we-hoped-it-would-go surgery, I wrote these words:
However 2023 goes, Hope will hold. Even the most overwhelming and seemingly impossible of circumstances is no match for the One who holds it all and says “this isn’t too much for me.” Goodness is coming after us (Psalm 23:6), sitting with us in every waiting room. He really is going to carry us through.
Summing up year 30 felt both important and impossible, but I gave it a try (here) and right at the end, included this: He held me and He held true.
It’s woven throughout, every day, every calendar page, even when there seemed to be no way—hope, hope, hope. Romans 15:13.
To be clear, I’m still praying, waiting, asking, hoping, longing, begging for a way to be made (in multiple ways). There’s no ta-da! tucked into the last line here, no ‘you’re never going to believe it’ surprise two paragraphs down, not even a hint of ‘I think the miracle is right around the corner.’
The storm is still being its stormy self.
I’m still waiting on a miracle.
The sea still exists.
I’m still asking “how much longer?”
But the thread is still running through.
Goodness is still chasing down.
Hope has held me and held true even in the flames, in the waves, in the burned down barn and the ashes of what remains. (Still, yes, the moon is beautiful.)
I have a new word for 2024. For many years now, something seemingly random starts to show up all. over. the. place. in October or November. I literally can’t get away from it. It happened over and over before joy, and each year it was uncanny — just right, and also always taking a strange, beautiful, sometimes brutal, unexpected, delightful turn. When rejoice showed up, I was somewhat wary. Would it mean there was great reason to rejoice or would it look like learning to rejoice in a tsunami? I didn’t know, but I knew that was the word.
Joy had something more to say. Joy. Re-joy. Rejoice.
This year, for the first time in as long as I can remember, there was no word. September passed. October. November. Nothing. “God…? Do I just hang onto rejoice? Again? Like, again again?”
But then something different happened.
Instead of a word showing up everywhere—conversations with friends, podcast episodes, social media posts, books—a verse began coming to mind. (And then, later, 3 words showed up in early December 2023 saying ‘hey, how about us?’ But that’s a story for another day, bless it.) Months have passed and I’ve yet to hear anyone mention the verse, see it posted on social media, or read it on a page. But it keeps arriving and I’m not going to lie, I’m wary of this one too.
But Hope held me and Hope held true, so I’m holding Hope to His word.
I’m holding it close for just a little longer, certain it has something specific to share before I specifically share it here, but for today I want to pass Romans 15:13 along to you. Maybe it’s yours for 2024?
Isn’t it strange, how hope is mentioned twice? Hope. Joy. Peace. Hope—again. Like it’s the understory running beneath every sentence of the grand narrative, the anchor in the swirling waves, the overarching thing that bookends it all?
Understory. Overarching. Hope.
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him—in every delight and disappointment, every pounding wave and moment of wonder, every waiting room and answered prayer, in both daylight and darkness—so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
You may know that I’m very much a fan of tradition (and that is very much an understatement).
When I asked on the private All The Things Instagram account if you’d prefer a phrase or a verse as the first print/lock screen of the year, the votes were split. So, shocking no one at all, I went with a verse because #tradition. (Well, now it’s officially tradition so heads up we’re locked in for 2025).
Isaiah 43:18-19 began 2023.
Romans 15:13 begins 2024.
And just because, as a little January extra, I made two—for daylight and for darkness. Hope, in either one. 💛
Prints:
The PDF file linked below includes both designs in an 8x10 and a 5x7 print, all with lines for easy trimming. (For the best quality, I’d suggested printing at a local print shop or a place like Staples instead of using a home computer! It’s usually about a dollar per print.)