On Sunday I ran a half marathon. When I approached the finish line I heard some familiar voices. One deep and the other soft. The deep one belonged to a tall, dark, handsome stud called Husband. The soft one is two years old and she was excited to be at the finish line. Although cold, she had her little fists in the air cheering for her mama. Later in the day, we talked about what it was that she was the most thankful for that day.
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Thoughtfully she said, “I’m thankful foooor… the finish line!” Her sweet little voice back dropped with a round, contemplative face had spoken. And her words penetrated my soul.

The truth in her statement, of course, made me smile. Without knowing it, my little one had spoken profound words.

Yes, sweet girl; I, too, am thankful for the finish line.

But the more I pondered her gratitude, the more I realized that, while true, it had a giant gaping hole in it. No, I don’t expect a toddler to understand the big, big world and the meaning it all holds; but I, as a grownup (although a reluctant one sometimes) know that there is more to be thankful for than just the finish line.
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I want to be thankful for the miles before. 

I am making only one resolution this year and it is this:
I RESOLVE to keep my gaze transfixed on Jesus’ face. 

Have you ever gotten lost in someone’s face – in the subtle recognition or mystery in their eyes? Maybe when you were holding your newborn baby for the first time or when you stood with the one you love saying your vows. 

These are pivotal, earth-shattering, trajectory-altering, heart-wrecking moments when we get lost in someone’s face. We are seduced, wooed, drawn in, and captivated. Or we are trapped, snared, tricked, and caught in the current of things that can destroy us.
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I can easily get lost looking in my daughters’ eyes. Yet, painfully, I can just as easily get lost looking at all the things I want to be…
         To do…
               To become…
                     To look like.

This year, I am resolved to be resolved to nothing else but to my Jesus.
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My King.

Being human is hard. It wasn't meant to be, but it is. Solomon called it a "heavy burden" this being human thing. We will never be satisfied. We will always want more of something. But what is it that we really want more of?

I find myself like Eustace clawing and scraping and pulling at my skin, this dragon skin that keeps my soul bound. I writhe under its constraint and its weaknesses. I'm a prisoner inside my own anger, resentment, insecurities, faithlessness, and selfishness. I hate how the scaly, lumpy, dragon skin looks... how it feels. And I can't cast off this feeling that there is something greater; there is more.