A year ago I told myself that I was going to write every single day for an entire year. Five hundred and twenty-one pages later, I can’t believe I actually did.
I thought that I would inevitably forget one night and call the whole thing off, or that perhaps one night I would decide I was too tired and choose to sleep instead. There were many nights I put it off for way too long because I didn’t want to be reminded of what happened that day, or maybe the memory seemed too sweet to even write down. But each night, God kept me awake. God gave me this strength that I didn’t even know I had. Regardless of how exhausted I was, regardless of how late it was and how early I had to wake up the next day, regardless of the amount of homework I had left, regardless of how drained I was, every single night I found myself putting it all on paper.
Surrender. I still have much left to learn about surrender. I learned quite quickly into this journey of writing every day for an entire year that I had the tendency to do the exact opposite of surrender. Whatever it was I needed to surrender, I wanted to keep it. Not only that, but I wanted to hide it. It was easier that way because I didn’t have to deal with it, so I would try and forget about it and distract myself. But when I was sitting down at night to write, the call to surrender only got louder and louder the more I suppressed it. Surrender your anxieties. Surrender your bitterness. Surrender your control. Surrender your obsessions. Surrender your insecurities. Surrender your drama. Surrender your failures. You are better off with these things in My hands.
Through writing, I responded to that call. And throughout the range of five hundred and twenty-one pages, I learned that surrender isn’t a one-time thing, or a two-time thing, or really specific to any numerical value. There is no formula to surrender. Surrender is a constant act. And at the end of the day, there’s no one else I’d rather be returning to than Jesus. No one else I’d rather pour my heart out for. There’s nothing else I could imagine putting all my hope in. Nothing else will do.
Nothing else seems more fitting as to do this another year. Even after almost five years now of keeping journals, this new year feels like writing for the first time, as if I could only imagine the wonder of it all.
Over five hundred and twenty-one pages, God, I’ve watched you rewrite my plans. The past few months I’ve been focused in on my future as I guess and hope and wonder and dream of what’s next. Years and years of preparing for college, and I never knew it would be like this or feel like this. Yet at the same time, I never thought I could find as much peace as I have in being undone.
undone by Jim Branch
years and years of hard work
diligently putting it all together
piece by piece
thinking all is well
progress is being madebut then you
come and scramble the whole picture
leaving pieces scattered everywhereyou smile lovingly
as I sit in the middle of the mess
knowing that I don’t know
knowing that I’m undone
and thinking to yourself
now that’s progress
Heavenly Father, I know that I don’t know. I am undone. However, these pieces are not mine, but Yours. You are the only one who knows how they all fit. So Father, let these broken bones rejoice, for You are the only one who can restore them. Let these broken bones rejoice as You put it all back together, doing it all for Your glory.
Putting into words everything I’ve learned through this over the past year seems impossible. But I pray my actions will speak what my words never could.
Oh, and a happy new year.
Ellie Proctor 