In lieu of trying to belong to any number of societies: Chesterton, Sherlock Holmes, the Inklings, and so on: I propose and establish one of my own. Don your intelligence cap at the door; dust off your logic and imagination; did you bring your inspiration and encouragement? We are shapers, my friends; lit lamps; light-bringers. Bring quotes; poetry should be uplifting and thoughtful, or witty and clever, (or both). Humor is encouraged; laughter is invited back. Pull up a chair. Anyone for tea?

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And a Happy New Year to You!

It's so very interesting how each year is so vastly different, and yet whenever the New Year comes around I find myself in a woefully familiar feeling of apprehension, as if somehow I aught to magically get my life in order every January 1st. (You may have noticed, keeping my sentences short was not one of my resolutions this year.) Every year of course has enough trouble of its own, not to mention the fact that around these holidays I'm also doing a lot of sleeping-in and other forms of vacational lolling, which do not precipitate an inordinate amount of organization. So I'm telling that silly part of me (that feels ambiguous anxiety at the sight of a blank-slate year ahead) to be quiet and have a cup of tea, while I get out a pen and paper in an attempt to discern my actual priorities for the coming year.

First of all, Jesus please take my new year. I cannot handle it on my own, even a little. Take last year too, and all its successes and blunders... that were somehow not the successes and blunders I had anticipated this time last year. Help me make the right goals and resolutions, and continue to give you my every day. But mostly, may I grow in You.
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