27 Decembers

"Hold your own, know your name, go your own way...Are the details in the fabric?" ~Jason Mraz

Hey December.  Hey.

Welcome to the final month of this beautifully brutal year.
I sit on my couch in my favorite hoodie and a pair of pajama pants that remind me of something from a Dr.Seuss book. My newly cut and colored hair is wet with the remnant of a modern shower, and the song from which the quote above was taken plays on repeat compliments of a good internet connection. December. The month of so many things, a month of culmination, wrapping up one period of time, beginning another, of final exams, and for me, the month of my beginning... the month of my name...the one written on that piece of paper welcoming that little girl the size of a jar of applesauce. It's December.

I have this purple backpack. It's been to five countries, and always seems to carry more than I ever thought it could fit. I just unzipped one of the small compartments looking for something else, and I found evidence of myself...not in a superficial way...I mean... evidence of the person God made me to be... I found a black pen of the uniball signo variety. My trademark pen. One from a box of a dozen I bought months ago with an amazon gift card from my birthday...last December. I unzipped the next compartment, and I found another one. I laughed. I am a strangely predictable, and oddly mysterious person, and my trusty purple backpack will almost certainly carry at least two things: One version or another of the Bible, and at least one uniball pen. I was born early, but I may never know how early, the jury's out. I was deprived of oxygen for a long time that day, that 10th day of December, nearly 27 Decembers ago...but I may never know how long, or precisely at what point the funny walk was thrown in the mix, and frankly, I have chosen not to care, because at 11:52PM that night, I began to breathe again.
Two snazzy pens, a hoodie, some Dr. Seuss like pj pants, a song, and almost 27 full Decembers. That should set the stage for you. A little girl they thought might never talk, tonight, can't keep silent.

Last night I heard a young woman basically curse her unborn child, then I saw her rise from the table to smoke. I didn't know her, but I know parts of her story. I know that like all of us, she has broken places, and I bit my lip as we parted. The Bible says we are fearfully and wonderfully made, and I believe it with all of my heart. I believe it not just because it's in the sacred book upon which all my life has been been founded, but because I have experienced the fierce protection of the God who knit this child together, even as the world outside thought her stitches might come undone. I have been broken hearted a great many times in my life, but last night, admittedly, I felt as though I was once again deprived of oxygen. I forgot, as it were, how to breathe, as I watched a mother cast terrible words at her children. I grieved, but I remembered. God's timing, it's so perfect. This young woman has three children, two here now, and one growing newly beneath her heart. She's my age. I wanted to lash out, I wanted to tell her that for decades (literally) I have desired to mother children, to be in a committed faithful relationship. I wanted to tell her that I love people who can't conceive, people who have spent years on waiting lists to adopt babies, and people who have welcomed children into their families forever (I am among those children, now an adult) and she was lamenting that she couldn't drink, and smoking anyway. Two uniball pens. Two graduate level degrees, a great many blissful moments, and deep breaths, and 27 Decembers.  In 27 Decembers I have learned that every life is so precious, and I have desired with all of my heart to remember that.

That young woman, though I disagreed with her, and though her actions caused an audible break in my heart, reminded me of something. She reminded me to take take life one breath, one encounter, one day at a time. She reminded me to cherish the way in which God wove my body, my heart....the little girl who writes letters and carries pens... and speaks though they said she might never...
She reminded me to cherish what is mine. Every person, every gift, every ounce of understanding that has come from that moment as the applesauce jar baby, to right now, 27 Decembers later. My face is wet with tears at the understanding that there are people in this world who have never known the love of the God who sent His Son, that there are young women in this world who travel miles for clean water that really isn't clean, that there are mothers who do not want their children, or do not value them well, even before they are blessed to breathe, and that there are mothers who still wait to be mothers, that there are young women still waiting their turn.


Every December it seems I have a moment that reminds me to take a deep breath and enjoy my life, the one that has been protected for 27 of them...27 Decembers. Every December I again resolve to welcome the gift of life and value the wonder present in it. The understanding of the Hand of God on that baby who has now become a woman who would rather use a pen than a computer, who remembers your middle name and why it's yours,  and who desires to know people for not just who they are, but who they could be.
Every December I somehow come to an understanding that no matter where the broken places are, they aren't mine to keep. See, my job isn't to figure out why things happened, or when they'll be fixed, or even to fix them. My job is to take life one gift, one moment, one word, one action, one stroke of a uniball pen at a time. My job is to stand strong and remember that as a Child of God I am to hold my own, and I am to know my name. I am to set my face like flint with the understanding that the heartbreaking things in the world are not unknown to the One who made this world, and the One who made me, and that they are one and the same.
My name is Courtney, I don't really know how to use an IPOD, I don't care to, really, but I know what to look for in a good ballpoint pen. I don't own a kindle, but I love a good book, I don't send a ton of emails, but I always have a book of stamps, and own enough stationery to write letters for a year. I love orphans, and I hope one day a generation to come down the line will have no idea what word even meant to me. That's right...I hope there are no more of them, I hope that some time down the road the battle will be won, and the orphans will have homes, and that where there is a lack of want for a life, there will be someone who just as desperately yearns for it. For now, though, the word exists, and there are people who curse their children, there are people who walk for miles for the luxury of something half way similar to the shower I just took without a second thought, and there are some who have been alive for years, without funny walks or oxygen deprivation, who have yet to learn to breathe again, or at all.

Every December, without fail, I am reminded anew of the value of life. It's different, every year it's different, sometimes it's a gift, others a challenge, others, like tonight, a momentary condition of the heart that yields both heaviness and elation.  Every year I am grateful. I am grateful for a moment that looked bleak, and an infant that cried out, for a God who was altogether merciful and placed His hand, and His mark, on her. I am grateful that nothing can stop the God who has proven Himself to that little girl who Has now become a young woman. I am grateful that He has called me (us) to rise above the heartache, the seemingly difficult walls we must climb, the status quo, the negative words spoken, or the negative actions done to us, and the (false) understanding that we are without ability to change things for the better. This understanding is false because He is daily changing us, if we let Him.
Tears stream down that face that was once a fighting infant, as she once again realizes that life is a gift, and that the world, as broken as it is, can be changed by one willing life. One willing life willing to hold her own, to fight, to breathe deeply one day at a time, and cherish it. One willing life who knows her name...and what He's going to do with it...and one willing life who understands that "her own way" is really His way, a way higher than she could comprehend.
It's a daily reminder to be grateful, it's a lesson I'm reminded of every December, and one that began on an ordinary day like this one, a day that began my extraordinarily blessed life, a day that started a lesson I've been learning ever sense. A lesson that began 27 Decembers ago...


Hold Your own, know your name, Go His way.

Oh, Hey December. Hey. Welcome.

~Courtney