There is something so dramatic about New Year’s Eve, isn’t there? Even the fireworks declare, “hey, even you can start anew?”
I like those kinds of new beginnings. They are easy. They are believable.
Not so easy when it’s, say, minute 4 of meditation and I’ve been struggling to be present for the last 3. I just want to quit. Escape. I don’t want a minute 5; I need a New Year’s Eve: a dramatic restart, a new year, a grandiose gesture that I can start over.
But I realized on my most recent meditation retreat that it is minute 5–not New Year’s Eve–that truly encapsulates grace.
[bctt tweet=”Grace, at its most glorious, is the tiniest of new beginnings. Imperceptible to others. Almost invisible to even me. But under the microscope of my heart, when I am still enough, and small enough, I can see it. I can be it.” username=”@eternitymod”]
And that’s all that matters.
As I wrote about, I meditated every. damn. day. last year. And I kept it going this year!
Until, July 10th. In a cabin in Breckenridge overlooking the Ten Mile Range, I completely forgot to meditate. I just forgot. I didn’t even realize it until the next day! And oh how my heart broke when I broke my streak of over 550 consecutive days.
But, alas, there was no New Year’s Eve on the horizon.
I had to start over, on a nondescript day in the middle of an ordinaryJuly; I didn’t even get a glass of champagne!
Grace. Tiny grace. Microscopic new beginnings.
I’ve learned a lot this summer about myself. About my heart. About how I treat other people. About how I care for my own soul. About how I connect with God. And with another school year beginning, I’m sure I will revert to some of my ugly ways. Probably on a daily basis.
And I will want to wait for a New Year’s Eve to start over. Because it’s so much easier. And more believable.
But.
Grace. Tiny grace. Microscopic new beginnings.
lifeinthedport 