10 Things I've Learned from Les Miserables

(Fair Warning: There will be plot spoilers so if you're unfamiliar, go rent/stream the 10th Anniversary Concert, the 25th Anniversary Concert, or the Hugh Jackman film and come back. Or, if you'd rather, here's a great synopsis.)

July 1994
On top of the Empire State Building

My backstory: 

I first saw Les Mis in 1994 with my dad on a hot summer's day in New York City. We were vacationing in relatively nearby Ocean City, New Jersey, and Dad took me up to the Big Apple for a day. I was nine-and-a-half years old. I remember on our drive into the city my dad explained two things to me. One, don't look at anyone in a raincoat because they might be a flasher (this stayed with me for years ). Two, for the purposes of seeing Les Mis, he had to explain prostitution. Of the two, the flasher thing was more traumatizing. I was wary of trench raincoats for years. 

I'm sure I barely understood what was happening in the show and I certainly didn't grasp the  profound themes of human nature, but something magical happened to me. Magic always happens with Les Mis and me. And on that hot July day, a spell was cast on me that has lingered for the last twenty-five years and shows no signs of fading. 

May 1998
7th Grade Choir Concert

When my dad purchased the three-disc complete symphonic recording I commandeered it and made it mine. Sorry, not sorry. I read the liner notes cover to cover multiple times. I learned about where the cast members were from and how they did the recording. And I poured over the lyrics to soak them up. I must've been about eleven or twelve by then. The second disc was my favorite. It had all of Eponine's songs. And I really loved me some Eponine. When I was thirteen, I got to sing "On My Own" for my first real solo at the seventh grade choir concert. I remember our director raising an eyebrow when I asked if I could, but he humored me and it remains one of the proudest moments in my personal history. (Incidentally, it's been twenty-two years and I can still sing every word with as much feeling and gusto as I did then. Probably more.)  

April 2011
Playhouse Square

Les Mis has a way of surfacing when I need it. As a teenager it gave me music for my emotions. As a twenty-something it was a declaration of the triumph of grace and light. As a worn out mom in my mid-thirties, it refills my cup with the fullness of music, story, and magic. I got to see the 2019 staged production in a cinema showing on my thirty-fifth birthday the other night. It was everything I needed and more.

The deep connection I've had with this show for twenty-five years has proven to be rich and enriching. I've grown up, like a little Cosette, with the story and songs of Les Miserables as a sort of soundtrack running in the background of my life. I certainly had no idea as a wide-eyed nine-year-old little girl of the gift I was given that summer day in New York City, but it's one I now hold very dear indeed. 

The lessons: 

The themes of grace, redemption, love, mercy, justice, friendship, comradeship, sacrifice, light, and dark didn't become clear to me until I hit adulthood. There are about as many themes as there are characters and scene changes in Les Miserables (so a lot). Every time I do a deep dive back into it I resurface with some new truth uncovered. Reading the novel enhanced that by about a billion. It's a hefty tome, but I recommend reading it at least once. The character development alone is enough reason to power through the girth. In the rest of this post, I'll share with you just ten lyrics that have taught me something or resonated deeply with me over the years.

1. To love another person is to see the face of God: This is hands-down my favorite lyric from any show or any song ever. And my favorite book of the Bible is 1 John. What in the world do these two things have in common? This verse right here, which I'm sharing in the Amplified translation because I like how full it is. "No one has seen God at any time. But if we love one another [with unselfish concern], God abides in us, and His love [the love that is His essence abides in us and] is completed and perfected in us." (1 John 4:12) Because God is love and mankind is made in His image when we love, we are showing Him to others, and seeing Him in the object of our love. It's not easy to remember. Unselfish love is not the typical knee-jerk reaction when we're wronged or have our patience tested, but it is the manifestation of God within us. This kind of love changes both the giver and the recipient. This kind of love is actually divine.  

2. "Another story must begin!": Okay, so honestly, I used to gloss over the beginning because I was all about the students later on. But then, as I grew older, I realized that the most incredible thing happens in the prologue. After Valjean is released from prison, he's treated abominably by people in the villages where he tries to make a life. Then, the kind old Bishop of Digne invites him to stay for the night. This scene is even more powerful in the book as Hugo tells us what the Bishop's servants think (Bishop be crazy) and how precious the silver really is to the Bishop. In the musical, we see Valjean marvel at the foolishness of the Bishop in trusting him as he steals the silver. He's caught and arrested (as a kid, I always thought maybe he wouldn't have been caught if he didn't sing about it so loudly. *shrug*) and brought back to the Bishop. Valjean has told his captors that the silver was a gift from the Bishop, and shockingly, he corroborates the story. In an act of heaping mercy, the Bishop also gifts Valjean the silver candlesticks which he had left behind. As he does he tells him that he must use the profit from selling the precious silver to become an honest man, that in his act of forgiveness and mercy, he is showing him God's love, and it must change his life. This single act of radical kindness changes the trajectory of Valjean's life which then in turn saves the lives of Cosette and later Marius. Because Valjean experiences the sacrificial, radical love of God through the Bishop, he has to grapple with his own sin and hatred. He recognizes that this is a crossroads. Does he allow himself to be changed by this love? Or does he cling to what he knows? For Jean Valjean, he must literally create a new identity and begin again, but I find this a brilliant example of how we are all made new in Christ. Valjean becomes a new creation through redemptive love and mercy, and although we aren't convicts fresh off the chain gang, we too must be made new in Christ. And in that new identity, there is freedom to love and forgive generously.

3. "Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise." : Darkness doesn't get to win; light is always the victor in the end. This line is taken from the epilogue, when all the characters who have died return as a somewhat ghostly chorus. It begins very softly and faintly, but it is "the music of a people who are climbing to the light." By the time the last notes ring out, it's a full fanfare about the victory that's promised "when tomorrow comes." I am one who often has to climb to the light. To put it as simply as I can, depression is hell. When I'm experiencing depression, it cuts off all that is good, healthy, and light from my experience. I know it's out there, but I can't reach it. I can't make it mine. Still, I climb for the light not just because I know it's there, but because I am a child of God. There's a fullness of life that is my birthright now. It is absolutely worth the struggle--I am worth the struggle--to fight the darkness of the night, and sing as the sun rises.

4."It is time for us all to decide who we are...": Very recently I realized how intensely devoted almost every character is to something or someone, and they each have a point at which they're willing to die for it. Fantine is desperately devoted to the well-being of her beloved child. Javert is devoted obsessed with justice; Enjorlas with equality and freedom. Grantaire is devoted to both wine and his friendship with Enjorlas (usually in that order). Eponine is devoted to Marius. Marius is devoted to both the cause of equality and to his new found love, Cosette, and ballads passionately about the conflict. Cosette is devoted to her father and to Marius. And Jean Valjean, the star, he's devoted to loving and protecting Cosette, and honoring God and using every bit of the redemptive grace he was given for the good of others. Devotion abounds, people, it's dripping off the walls. It's probably embarrassing it took me two and a half decades to really notice it. (continued in #5)

5. "We're the ones who make it in the end." : The exception to all this devotion is the Thernadiers who care only for themselves and self-preservation. The contrast, in fact, is startling. As they tell us, they're the ones who make it in the end.  And they're right. Spoiler: by the time the curtain falls, only four characters are still alive--the young lovers, Marius and Cosette, and the stinking Thernadiers. But what is the survival of the Thernadiers for? Their legacy is worthless. Utterly and entirely worthless because it only serves themselves and their good fortune is only ever temporary. On the other hand, the lives and sacrifices of (almost) all the others are beautiful. To love deeply and truly, and to be devoted sincerely to an ideal gives meaning to their lives and purpose in their legacy. The love, friendship, and devotion can carry Marius and Cosette into their future together infused with strength of those they've lost. Which prompts me to consider my convictions, my personal sacrifices, and the legacy I'm crafting. A legacy doesn't just pop up upon death, instead, it's the culmination of things cultivated in life. What do I believe in passionately? Who do I love unselfishly and sacrificially? What foundation am I crafting for those who will carry on when my time has passed? If my life is all about me, it's worthless. If my love stops just short of sacrificial, it's incomplete. If my convictions run dry when tested, they don't have much value

6. "My heart is stone and still it trembles.": There is one more exception to this devotion rule. Javert's obsession with justice ends up being the end of him. And try as I might, I can't find anything redemptive about it. Instead, what I learn is that mercy is a polarizing thing. It either changes you or it hardens you. Case in point? Inspector Javert. Over the years, I've come to see his suicide as one of the saddest parts in the show. Michael Ball's recent performance as the inspector definitely aided in that sympathy. But the heartbreaking thing about Javert is his deep misunderstanding of God, the law, and humanity. When he's offered mercy, it breaks him. The same act that set Valjean free to live a redeemed life, condemns Javert to suicide. His devotion to justice crowds out any room for mercy. His intense distrust for mankind pushes away any connection he might make. His legalistic understanding of salvation leaves him without any place for the love of Christ. He's a strong contender for the most tragic figure I've ever encountered in a musical.

7. "In my need, you have always been there.": If "Bring Him Home" isn't one of the most emotional songs in a musical, then I don't know what is. And here's the thing, in the musical, it sorta gets lost that Valjean marches his self to the barricade hell-bent on killing Marius after he intercepts the love letter to Cosette. Then, he's so impressed with Marius that he ends up saving his life. But in the musical, since this is the way musicals work, we get this incredible song. The whole thing is a prayer in which Valjean wholly recognizes that it's all in God's hands. I personally really love this lyric because I know that in my own life, God has always been there. Through heartaches and trauma and grief, God has never left me. That doesn't mean I've always gotten my way or that life is just sunshine and roses. Go back and re-read that line about heartache and trauma and grief. Life is life and sometimes it knocks the wind right out of you. And yet God remains steadfast, and I can always call on Him. I also like that God's way of answering Valjean's prayer is to make him an active participant in making it so. Marius isn't miraculously spared from any injury; instead Valjean carries him through sewers and pleads with Javert to give the boy a fighting chance to live. And, in my experience, God's answers to prayers usually require us to step up and do something too.

8. "This rain will wash away what's past...and rain will make the flowers grow.": Major spoiler: This is the heart wrenching moment between Marius and Eponine when she finally feels the warmth of his embrace and love as she dies in his arms. It's rough. Yet there is something so poignant and hopeful about Eponine. Unlike her parents, the Thernadiers, she's not bitter, covetous, and nasty. Eponine takes her hardships in stride, constantly imagining what could be and giving of herself to an absolute fault. In this song, she tells us that rain is really okay. That sorrow can lead to healing, that darkness precedes light. And rain is actually life-giving. Without it flowers don't bloom, trees wither, fields die from want of water. How too we humans blossom and grow with rain, even if we think all we really want is sunny days without the challenges of clouds and storms. The truth is, if we want beauty and strength, we must accept also what is bleak and hard. 

9. "I will never go away and we will be together every day.": Okay, full disclosure, I used to make fun of this line. Like, okay, Cosette, literally all of Marius' friends have just senselessly died, but it's alright because you exist. That's not narcissistic at all, sweetie. But I was terribly wrong about Cosette! What she's doing in this moment is drawing Marius from the edge of despair. He has survivor's guilt and is deeply grieving his friends. Grief is important. He must grieve, he should grieve. But he can not stay there, it will consume him. And Cosette knows this. With gentleness and hope, she helps him recall that his life has meaning, and that there is love in it. Love, as we have already seen, is a very powerful thing. Love and hope have the strength to pull us back from the edge of darkest despair.

10. "Take my hand, I'll lead you to salvation. Take my love for love is everlasting.": Les Mis shows us the vital importance of human connection, tenderness, and friendship. Without it we become narrow-minded, self-serving, and cruel. In the absence of love and mercy, only brutality and depravity can grow. Yet when love and mercy are given, hope is born. And out of hope, all manner of new life begins. Kindness, gentleness, sacrificial love, honor, and integrity blossom and take deep root. In friendship and camaraderie, there is strength to stand in the darkness and proclaim the light. It is love that lasts forever and ever. "And now there remain: faith [abiding trust in God and His promises], hope [confident expectation of eternal salvation], love [unselfish love for others growing out of God’s love for me], these three [the choicest graces]; but the greatest of these is love." (1 Corinthians 13:13)

And if you made it to the end....here's a special treat! I've been binge-watching this clip for about a week now. Michael Ball and Bradley Jaden singing a duet version of "Stars". It's pretty fantastic. 

Trading Typical

"So trade that typical for something colorful, and if it's crazy, live a little crazy."-- 'The Other Side' from The Greatest Showman. Music and lyrics by Justin Paul and Benj Pasek

I know, I know, that movie is so last year. But it's also the only music my three-year-old daughter will consent to in the car. Especially now that Christmas is over. We pretty much give the little one what she wants because she's scary. Especially when I'm driving.

Anyway, The Greatest Showman is a breathtaking, beautiful musical on the life of PT Barnum. Sort of. They took a lot of poetic license. But it's the story that matters. And since I am a lover of stories, as I've said before and will likely say in almost every post, I forgive their historical discrepancies and wholeheartedly love this film. It's colorful, musical, and hopeful. Clearly, something I would love.

So I've had a year to listen to the music, to notice little lyrical things, and subtleties. Yet, just yesterday when my son requested we skip to 'The Other Side' after indulging his sister in the title track, something new hit me.

Usually I'm the PT in this song. I've been a wide-eyed dreamer literally my entire life. I cannot remember a time when I didn't daydream and imagine. And sing. And dance. The dancing was bad. I digress. There were a few awkward years--you know the ones, about fifth grade to ninth grade--where I was uncomfortable in my own skin, uncertain of who I was, and if anyone would even like that person anyway. Eventually, I came into my own (perhaps a story for another time), and I loved my vibrant, vivacious, loquacious, gregarious personality.

But now I'm a grown up. And I'm tired. (Can I get a witness?) I've had my fair share of moving and losing friends and the pregnancy hormones and the post-partum hormones and the 'I don't know what is happening anymore' hormones and sleep deprivation and the ever-present 'mental load'... It's like I've lost myself. Oh, and adding to my insecurity, I'm a home educator. Much to my own surprise.

I never imagined I would chose to be one of those weirdos. Honestly. However, when my son was preschool age and we couldn't afford preschool, I started doing research. On all kinds of things really--homeschooling options, the effects of Common Core, studies on early childhood education. I came to the conclusion that home educating our kids was the right choice for our family.

Let me tell you how many times since I've questioned that right choice. Well, actually, I can't. I've lost count. I lost the peace of my decision because I've been comparing my son and myself to everyone around us. Truly, everyone. Public schoolers, private schoolers, homeschoolers, unschoolers. I've been trying to measure up my son to see if he's doing okay. The poor kid. I keep changing rulers! If we do THIS, if we do THAT, if we focus HERE, if we redirect THERE. I've compared him to every kid we know and even some we don't! And me? Oh, man, I've been even harder on myself. Did you know that everyone  in the entire world is more put together than me? That every other homeschooling mom is successful and I'm a ding-dong?

You see, I've lost myself. I've lost the confidence in who I am and so I can't share confidence with my kids in who we are. I keep leading us in circles looking for some kind of affirmation or approval. And those circles keep getting smaller and smaller, hemming us into little spaces we were never meant to live in. Choking off the natural curiosity, creativity, and wide-eyed wonder I used to pride myself in, and that which my children have quite naturally.

This is where the song comes in. In the bridge of the song, PT slows down to tell Philip (the young aristocrat he hopes will invest in the show) exactly what's at stake here. Philip has just told him in no uncertain terms, "if I were mixed up with you, I'd be the talk of the town--disgrace and disowned, another one of the clowns!"

But PT replies....

"But you would finally live a little, finally laugh a little

Just let me give you the freedom to dream 

And it'll wake you up and cure your aching

Take your walls and start 'em breaking

Now that's a deal that seems worth taking

But I guess I'll leave that up to you" 

So I'm driving the car, singing along with Hugh Jackman and my son, and it just hits me like lightning. I'm Philip. I'm afraid to be different. I'm afraid to lose some kind of public approval. I'm afraid to do something in my own way. I don't want to take risks in case it's 'wrong'. 

I've been listening to some podcasts lately, particularly those of Sally Clarkson (At Home With Sally and Friends), Joy Clarkson (Speaking with Joy), Sarah MacKenzie (Read-Aloud Revival), and Julie Bogart (Brave Writer). The Brave Writer podcast specifically cut straight through the fog of comparison and the haze of doubt I've been swimming in for months. Listening to Julie, I realized that my instincts are totally right and I'm messing this all up by worrying too much about what everyone else is doing. Like a kid at school that can't keep her eyes on her own paper, I need to just hunker down and keep my eyes on my own work. *Commence building mini-fort with folders*

Look again at those lyrics. There are some powerful words there. Live a little. Laugh a little. Freedom to dream. Wake you up. Cure your aching. Take your walls and start 'em breaking. That's everything I believe in on paper. That's how I describe myself to everyone except myself deep inside. That cranky little narrator in my head has gotten the wrong stage notes or something. THIS! This is who God created me to be. I knew it when I was a kid, and I figured it out again around fifteen and held on okay through college. But somehow in the ups and downs and melee of adulting, I started berating myself for all that I'm not, instead of believing in who God says I am and who He created me to be. And it's absolutely worked it's way into my abilities to teach my kids.

I think all parents need to throw off the bonds of comparison and the ubiquitous messages that we're messing up our kids. Even more so, as a home educating parent, I have to stop. We are different. We are a little weird, we're not like everyone else. I have to stop expecting us to look like everyone else. I mean, duh. I've been slow on the uptake--it's the sleep deprivation and lack of alone time.

"Forget the cage, 'cause we know how to make the key! Oh, damn! Suddenly we're free to fly."

This song has been stuck in my head for a couple days now. My son and I take turn finishing each other's lyrics when one of us starts singing it mid-chorus. (Lest you worry that my six-year-old is singing the "oh damn" part...he thinks the lyrics are "up, down"...and I just haven't corrected him). But we are suddenly free to fly. Together. As I re-learn how to trade the typical for something colorful, he'll learn with me that being who God created you to be is really the only way to live. That ignoring the voices--even the mean ones inside your own head--and trusting in the Lord is the only way to make choices. That we have freedom in Christ (even a command) to be different. And the cure for aching is in the workload and rest of Jesus, because His burden is light. 

If you need me, I'll be making fresh memories with the kids where I'm less stressed out and more likely to be having tea parties and teddy bear picnics. And more than likely, The Greatest Showman will be playing in the background because we give the little one what she wants. 

Fantastic Light

I sorta have a love affair with light. It's been a lifelong thing. Perhaps it started because I was afraid of the dark and nightlights were such faithful little electric companions. Maybe it's because I went to the planetarium once as a kid and fell in love with starlight. Or it might be because I know what it is to stumble about in proverbial darkness and need a great light to give warmth, direction, and well, light. 

In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
-- John 1:4‭-‬5 ESV

In the summer of 2016 I was struggling with post-partum depression, grieving the passing of my beloved grandmother (I lost 3 grandparents in 7 months time), trying to put down roots in a still new area, and working through long days and longer nights as a worn out mother of two. It was a dark time. I won't lie about that and I'll try to not exaggerate. A friend who met with me each week for bible study and encouragement described me as "clawing for the light." It was a very apt description. I knew I desperately needed the Light. I asked God to show me the light.

That summer there were hundreds and hundreds, maybe a thousand, fireflies who came out to dance in our yard each night. I'd never seen so many in my life. I couldn't walk without bumping into them. And oh, the hours I spent that summer walking in our yard. It was a large grassy yard with several tall, tall trees for shade. My husband would take our 4 year old son out to the family farm to pal around as he worked, and I would carry our six month old baby girl in my arms as I walked around the yard. I sang hymns and praise songs and trendy Christian tunes from the radio, whatever stirred in my heart and fell out of my mouth. And I prayed. And cried. Not always sad tears. Just sometimes because of exhaustion and hard mental-emotional-spiritual work often warrants crying. God led me through deep trust issues, with Him and humanity. He led me closer to His own heart. 

And every night the fireflies flickered in the trees and the grass and the fields all around. Lights blinking one to another. I'm here. I'm here. You're not alone. See my light? 

"You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.  Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house.  In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.
--Matthew 5:14‭-‬16 ESV

One night it hit me. The Kindom of Heaven is like fireflies in a dark world. I light up so you can know you're not alone. You light up so I can know I'm not alone. We communicate in the light. We live and move and have our being in the Light. 

How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 
--William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice

It's now January of 2019, almost three years later. I haven't seen a firefly in months. But the Light keeps coming to me. I just have to look. It's been a weird, warm, gray, dreary winter in Ohio (and elsewhere). Much too bleak, not enough sun. On Christmas there was sunshine. On my daughter's birthday just two weeks and two days later there was sunshine. Today it was warm and sunny and we had a trip to the park. My son, now six, picked me a sunny yellow dandelion. In January. 

I saw Mary Poppins Returns again tonight. I get a little bingey with beautiful things. I always have. It's an affliction but one I don't mind. And I've concluded that my favorite part is when Jack and the Lamplighters teach the new generation of Banks children to "trip a little light fantastic."

'Trip a Little Light Fantastic' is the big show-stopping number, similar to 'Chim-Chim-Cheree' in the original movie. Again, trying to avoid spoilers, I will reveal this much (since I think it's revealed in the trailers and elsewhere) Lin-Manuel Miranda leads the London Lamplighters in an exuberant song and dance about turning on the light. It's fun, it's toe-tapping, it's got a great dance break, and it's a catchy tune. 

And it's about light. It exhorts us to not give up when we're in a fog of confusion, when we're weary inside and out, when we just want to hide or lay down and be done. Don't quit. Look for the light. Shine for others to see.  

It's everything I've come to hold dear as God has been teaching me about light my entire life. From nightlights to starlight to fireflies to lamplight....He's used it all to point to Himself. The Light of the World. 

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone. -- Isaiah 9:2 ESV

I've found that if I just pay attention I can find God in the most unlikely places. He seems to favor that trick. After all, we've just celebrated the time He turned up in a manger as a newborn. And wherever I find Him, there's the light. Fantastic light. 

2019: Nowhere To Go But Up

"Life's a balloon that tumbles or rises depending on what is inside. Fill it with hope and playful surprises, and oh, deary ducks, then you're in for a ride..." 
--'Nowhere To Go But Up'. Music and Lyrics by Scott Wittman and Marc Shaiman

For the last three years Hollywood has gifted me beautiful movies that fill me up with inspiration, beauty, and wonder. First, there was the re-imagined Beauty and the Beast, and although I've now seen it five or six times, I still get teary-eyed at the ending. (I've become one of those grown-ups.) Next came, The Greatest Showman which took many of us by storm and filled us up with glitter and dreams and music. Now this year, a kindred friend from childhood has come back--I feel almost like Jane Banks myself when she blurts out: "I thought we'd never see you again!". Yes, of course, I'm speaking of Mary Poppins Returns.

In full disclosure, I was against this film when I first heard of it. There were a lot of grumbles and bah humbugs all the way until Thanksgiving this year. We stumbled upon an ABC special about Mary Poppins Returns and when I heard Dick Van Dyke's ringing endorsement (and learned of his amazing cameo) I finally decided to open my heart up to another installment of Mary Poppins. I'm so glad I did.

(I feel that this is a good spot to warn you that there will most surely be several posts over the next couple of weeks inspired by this movie, and probably the original, and then we'll go tripping and traipsing all over the stories and songs that have taught me the way to see beauty and wonder in a world often too busy, too cold, and too dark to notice. That was actually the vision I'd been dreaming up for this blog anyway. A cozy house blend of inspiration, insight, and imagination all fueled by stories. I've always been a sucker for a good story.)

I promise, no spoilers....although, I should hope that you'd trust Mary Poppins to deliver the Banks family a happy ending. After all, she is Mary Poppins and practically perfect in every way. Spit spot and all that. But I wanted to share some thoughts I had after soaking in the last song in the film.

"The past is the past. It lives on as history and that's an important thing. The future comes fast. Each second a mystery. For nobody knows what tomorrow may bring."

I think most of us would agree that 2018 was a hard year. Many of my friends are walking steep paths marked with loss, grief, and uncertainty. I myself felt heavy pressure and stress in the various roles I play in life--wife, mother, friend, homeschooler, church volunteer, and of course, writer. Rarely it seemed to me that I was measuring up to those mystical standards I felt both externally and internally. With feelings of failure, doubt, and frustration I almost crawled to the finish-line of the holiday season. But in that bleak mid-winter, I started to read books again and listen to podcasts about beauty and hope. As my brain started to drink up this goodness, I could feel the bud of hope peeking up from the soil in my heart. I started to remember what it was like to believe in my dreams, and not just drag them along in a heavy sack. I started to really look forward to the new year. It felt like the turning of a page was coming; that I could mark an end to some of the hardships of 2018, and pick up fresh ink to write on the pages of 2019 with renewed energy. 

It's a matter of coincidence that I saw Mary Poppins Returns on January 1, 2019. Although, maybe, since I do whole-heartedly and stubbornly believe that God is a man of details, perhaps it was providence. Isn't it rather perfect to begin a new year with a good strong dose of imagination and adventure? Isn't it grand to be drawn into a world of possibility and reminded what childlike eyes can see? And, isn't it wonderful to be assured that when life has been grinding and our loads have gotten so heavy we can hardly think straight or see the path ahead of us that there's "nowhere to go but up"? 

Each day is new. When the sun rises, even on the gray dreary days we've been plagued with here in Ohio, it shines on untouched hours. Busyness and commitments do limit some of the possibilities in each day, but there are so many moments unaccounted for in which we can breathe in deep and notice the world around us. There are opportunities to love hard and live well. There's time to play and create. There's room for silliness and laughter. There's space for faith and hope. There's nowhere to go but up. 

Lest you think I've gone completely mad with optimism, I'm sure 2019 will have its ugly bits I'd rather not have to sort out. I've been on this planet long enough now to know that all my lists and resolutions don't really stop the tide of life from crashing hard sometimes. But here I am on the shores of a new year and I'm inviting you to join me. Let's journey together pointing out beauty as we go, searching high and low for magical things, and celebrating the wonder in ordinary days. And in jealousy guarding our faith and hope and discoveries, we may just keep the dark from inching out our joy in another year. Here's to a new year! May we go nowhere but up carried high by hope on steady strings of faith. 

"Let the past take a bow, the forever is now. And there's nowhere to go but up, up!"