On New Year’s Day, my social media feed was filled with everyone’s accomplishments in the last decade.
As a *true* enneagram 1, I responded with joy for them AND self-critique for being un-accomplished.
Then I went for a run.
I thought about my last decade.
I got choked up.
(Getting choked up isn’t so good for breathing while running).
I’m always on to the next thing. I’m really good at self-criticism. It’s hard for me to relax and enjoy.
But looking at my last decade, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude.
And it chokes me up.
I started the decade by overhauling my dissertation chapters to meet the critique of my readers. I had no romantic prospects and I rented my apartment.
Then I earned my Ph.D.
And I took students to Syria where I met the man who would become my husband.
I started Woman, a rite of passage for Nyack seniors that continues today.
I married.
I birthed and breastfed two wonderful boys.
I wrote and Cascade published The Book of Womanhood.
I started my own website and blogged.
I did some podcasts, wrote academic and popular articles, spoke at conferences, in churches, at retreats.
We bought a house and closed on my due date for boy #2 (he waited for a week).
We took students to walk St. Paul’s footsteps in Greece, traveled to Lebanon, Syria, Czech Republic, Austria, and Hungary. We even camped across the USA.
I started learning Arabic (still working on that one).
I was promoted. Twice. I even won some awards.
I taught a bazillion classes, biked many miles, and ran a lot.
I celebrated communion and officiated weddings.
I made a lot of mistakes.
I was forgiven. I forgave.
I grieved. I rejoiced.
I have a million reasons for gratitude.
And yet, I hope that if there was no list, I’d still be grateful. Grateful that I get to breathe and walk this earth. After all, whatever happens, it’s only by God’s grace.
