We’re in that funny little place we get in each year when the year is nearly finished. Here in the South, it’s the commencement of our true winter, a season of blooming pansies and light dustings of snow, at least down in the foothills. It’s a time when I assess the year, beating myself up because my bottom line has not moved an inch. I brace for winter and a new year and somehow hope surfaces. It’s the season of do-overs and bowl games, winter beginnings and sports endings shaking hands.
I pray your new beginnings, in spite of your bottom line, is powdered with snow and hope and football and faith. Toast and awaken and come alive to the fact that God’s still pondering you and what he might do with you next. You’re in his hands and that’s a reason to throw a party and kiss your friends' ruddy cheeks. You are dearly loved, appreciated, and prayed over by this southern author. Happy New Year, friends!
I pray your new beginnings, in spite of your bottom line, is powdered with snow and hope and football and faith. Toast and awaken and come alive to the fact that God’s still pondering you and what he might do with you next. You’re in his hands and that’s a reason to throw a party and kiss your friends' ruddy cheeks. You are dearly loved, appreciated, and prayed over by this southern author. Happy New Year, friends!
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