Like the Creatures of Winter Do

it's january

Hello and welcome (back) to The Redemptive! I took a much needed break over the past few weeks and I’m eager to get back into a my writing rhythms again. Whether you’re new here or not, I’m grateful you’re here and hope you enjoy this first post of mine for 2024. I’ve included a voice over of me reading the post as well for you to enjoy.

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It’s January and I don’t want to write. It matters not that my fingers typed out almost 30k words in the final months of last year. Now, I sit at the computer while the blinking cursor mocks me, impatiently tapping against the screen for me to produce words. I wish I could give them as easily as I did weeks ago. I’m not the same woman I was then. How quickly we can change. This is both thrilling and terrifying and aren’t the best things of life usually a tangle of the two?

The view from my tiny kitchen window right at the time I hit ‘publish’ on this post.

It’s January and all I want to do is hibernate. Our old house complains in the wind over being asked to shelter us for another winter. I wish I could retire this house, set it out to pasture. Scoop it up like a dead tree and plant another (young and sturdy) one in its place. This house has done its time and shouldn’t be asked to hold so much in its poorly built frame.  Did you know the prices of homes increased by 50% from 2020 to 2023? I knew. Ask me how I know. Or don’t. It’s painful to talk about.

Last summer, a person I used to be friends with but hadn’t seen in years looked me right in the face and asked, “Y’all still living in that trailer?”. I wanted to say, “Oh, you mean the place we live and breathe and sleep and do the best we can? You mean the place I’ve brought my babies up in? You mean our home?”. I just said, “Yep!” with a forced smile. We’re still living in “that trailer”. 

It’s January and the meteorologists called for 3-6 inches of thick, luxurious snow, all we got was cold rain. The yard won’t dry and my rain boots squish into the cold mud. Billie’s pawprints pepper the floor no matter how many times I mop. I can’t stop thinking about the crocuses I locked in the frigid earth a few weeks back.   

It’s January and my brain feels buzzy and scattered. I thought quitting caffeine would help with that. I’m opening the windows a few minutes every morning because someone on the internet said fresh air in a home helps with brain fog. I’m trying to be brave and get outside even when it's the last thing I want to do. It’s helping. Barely.

It’s January and I’ve resolved to read more books. I got two at the library on Saturday and had already finished one of them in less than 24 hours. I will not keep up this pace but it feels like a good start. The next is one about dragons. I’ve read it before. The last time I read it, I was much younger. Maybe I’ll meet her in the pages when I revisit them. 

It’s January and I’m reading the Bible in a year with Jackie Perry. The words feel like dry bread on my tongue. I keep chewing, hoping for nourishment, praying for God to meet me in the morning hours before the sun rises. Each morning, I tear off another corner and put it in my mouth. Each morning, I go through the motions having faith that God will soften the bread and sweeten it. “Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, "Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.' And instantly the woman was made well.” -Matthew 9:22

It’s January and I’m wondering where my writing will take me this year. I know where I want it to take me. But those are private goal posts I won’t share here. I’ll pull back my words like an arrow strung to a bow and fire them into the atmosphere, praying they’re guided by the hand of the Lord to land in the hearts they’re intended for. And if not, my writing muscles will at least be stronger by this time next year. 

It’s January and I’m still taking walks with my dog and talking about Tolkien. I don’t know why or how but that work has grown into something I never expected. I’m able to bring in income–albeit a small amount–for my family simply by talking about something I love. It’s not come without stress and frustration. The comment sections of TikTok can be a cruel and cold place. But it’s also taught me to stand up for myself and to keep doing something I love in spite of broken people trying to break me. 

It’s January and I’ve just checked the forecast to find it predicts a blanket of clouds from 7am-9pm. Every day I hope for the sun and even on the days it doesn’t warm my skin, I know it’s there making its arch in the heavens. Somehow, this is comforting. 

It’s January and the sun is setting 16 minutes later than it was a month ago. Why does knowing that information make me want to weep?

It’s January and my kids don’t want to do school. Routines and habits are hard to form and hard to keep. I feel like I’m breaking in a wild mustang every time. I’ve never done that, but I suspect the key is just to stay in the saddle longer than you thought you’d have to. 

It’s January and the same questions and unresolved circumstances that plagued me last year didn’t stay in 2023. Surprise! They’re here too. They sit on my fingers when I type. They get caught in my hair. They especially like to sneak into my ribcage and rattle against my bones at 4am on weekdays. 

It’s January and right this minute the sky is the silkiest shades of peach and periwinkle. A crow is calling from its black trumpet outside my window. My dog is asleep and my children are not. My husband is at work and I am too. Him, there. Me, here. It’s time to fill our bellies with something warm where bacon is involved. It’s time to open up another day and plunge our hands into the depth of it, foraging for grace like the creatures of winter do; having faith that God will provide for the day ahead. 

It’s January and I’m alive for this, for all of this.