The following is a post I’ve been thinking about for two weeks, but have been living out for a few months now. As we begin a New Year, I’ve read a lot from other blogs about choosing one word as a resolution of sorts for 2011. Alece is talking about it, and so is Nicole. And I haven’t come up with “my” word, yet, but I have most definitely been thinking about a word I don’t want to become in the upcoming year. And it is. . . {que drumroll}: Cynical. Thanks for visiting here, again, and Happy New Year, friends.
I’ve never considered myself a cynical person. I’m the type who’s glass is perpetually half-full, who’s life is an open book, who’s doubts aren’t raised by the car salesman’s best pitch.
But that was all before our move across oceans, before this gasping swim-upriver began. That was my idealistic optimism, before nine months of struggle and spiritual weight, missed expectations and culture shock.
Because motorcycle burns and kids packing suitcases wanting to go home does something to your dreams. So does the accumulated stress of driving in Asian traffic, communicating with a vocabulary of 50 words, and hacking out homeschooling, really at home, all-alone. The idealism from there takes blows from the reality of here in the form of three moves since April, holidays without family, rice for dinner again, and hot water that still alludes us in our shower. And we were inspired by the bigger picture from our couch in Colorado, but Matt told me last night, under Thai-sky, that the gritty daily has left him more broken than ever before.
And what are you to do when Risk and Faith and Courage, result in
Disappointment and Doubt and Loss?
These days instead of William Wallace riding into battle, it feels more like I’m Mr. Tumnus in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. I’m the unsuspecting faun at the end of the White Witch’s wand– flesh slowly crackling to frozen stone. And I can see it happening– to my heart and to the heart of my husband. It’s a gradual death of
loving-big, dreaming-radical, and offering-vulnerable.
And I fear I am becoming a cynic in the process.
Because cynics seem to respond to the length of the battle or the depth of the disappointment by
refusing to trust again,
assuming the worst,
sitting the sidelines, and
holding the cards closer next time.
And I see it in myself, this cycncism creeping in while my idealism is gut-kicked out.
But gut-kicking or no, I cannot dismiss the very simple truth this week brought to my attention–
“Love always Hopes.”
Always. Hopes.
And to be hopeful means I trust, again. Means I step into the arena, again. Means I assume the best, again. Means I dream,
again.
“Love always hopes, always trusts, always perseveres. Love never fails.” {1 Cor. 13}
Two Questions for You {Pick one, or both, if ya wanna}:
In what areas do you find yourself the most cynical?
What would be your “One Word” for the New Year?
ALifeOverseas.com / LauraParkerBlog.com.
Destined Traveler.
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