Out with the old and in with the new…

I’ve never really related to this saying. I like my old boots. My old dog. My old friendships, although I did make some delightful new friends in 2023. But change has always unsettled me. The word I’ve chosen this year scares me too.

Can you guess my word? Scott’s word is Impossible Prayers. Christian’s word is Grow. He’s twelve years old and hoping for a growth spurt. Garry James’ word is Self-Control. That’s a great word for a kid turning sixteen and driving soon. John, his girlfriend, Skye, and her sister, Kodi have their words on the log too. My word for 2024 is Risk.

Love is risky. I want to risk loving people the way God loves them. God isn’t afraid to love human beings. He isn’t defensive when he loves. He doesn’t shut down when things get dicey. He doesn’t run away when love hurts. He was nailed to a cross for love.

I was good at riding off on my pony when someone hurt me when I was young. As I got older, I chose bigger, faster horses. Then I got married, and Scott wouldn’t let me run. I tried to leave him several times, and he just wouldn’t have it. He forced me to face love when it brought us pain.

I didn’t mean to take a deep dive fast here, but I’ve decided to take more risks. Being open and honest is a risk. I’ve been pushing myself to be open and honest for years, so what’s different this year? Well, for one, the young birds in our nest are flying away. We are down to just two boys in the house. It’s so much quieter now. I’ve grown quieter, too. Words matter. As a writer, I know this well, but each year, I know it even more. As a wife, I live it. As a mom, I pay for it. As a friend, I feel it. What I say has consequences. I want to risk uncomfortable moments rather than fill the space with empty talk that keeps things easy.

Three of our sons have become men and are building their lives now. Our daughters’ children are growing up before our eyes. Time marches on. 2023 was another big year of funerals. Old and young. The expected and unexpected passing of loved ones. Standing beside a grave will make you ponder… what do I want to leave behind when I’m gone?

What will I be remembered for? I’m a grandma now, “Poppy,” the little ones call me. I chose my grandma name in college at 20 years old, and have no idea why Poppy. A friend and I were drunk. She said, “Let’s choose our grandma names.” I said, “Why?” She cried, “Because I want to! I will be Nana.”

I said, “Okay, I will be Poppy.” She said, “What the hell is a Poppy?” and I said, “What is a Nana? Is that like a Nanny goat?” “You b*tch,” she said, blowing cigarette smoke in my face in Reno, Nevada. Keep in mind the booze in this conversation. “I miss California. A poppy is my state flower,” I may have said. “California sucks,” she probably said. She was a Nevadan to the bone.

I told you my word is risk. Telling you where my grandma name came from feels risky. You may not like that I used to get drunk. You might judge me for my past. I have a lot of church friends now. And many of them grew up in church. Their past is this: they accepted Jesus at four years old, got baptized a few years later, and have never cussed or smoked. Drunkenness, are you kidding? Ran away from love? Why run from love? Love for them isn’t risky. They know God’s rock-solid love and the people who shaped them loved them well. They may not get the girl I used to be. The girl I write for. Because that girl needs my stories.

We all leave footprints in the sand. This year I’m on a journey to love more wholeheartedly and that feels risky. And no matter what I do some people won’t love me back. They won’t even like me. All my life I’ve run into women who take one look at me and decide not to like me. Again, it feels risky to tell you this. I’ve always wanted people to like me. I will do what I can to earn your love. As an author, this can be a tough gig. Nearly every day someone tells me they love my stories. Readers have been very good to me. I can count on one hand those who have hated my books, at least those who’ve let me know. One reader has read every book I’ve written and sent me an email last year telling me why she hates them all. Here again, it feels risky to put this out there. A few of you may be putting on boxing gloves right now, and I thank you, you make me smile, but I write this to say I’m glad I’ve taken the risk to put my heart into my stories even though I’ve experienced some rejection. There are books out there I haven’t enjoyed. I would never email the author and tell them why their work upset me but I get it. Life is too short to read books you hate. Pursue what you love.

I hope you choose a good word this year. I hope you laugh. I hope you dance. If you’re a Protestant Nazarene, I’m sorry Nazarenes don’t dance. I hope you sing! Nazarenes sure can sing. And I hope you take some risks. I hope you experience love that is faithful and true. If you’re not finding that kind of love in your life, look to Jesus. The Bible calls Jesus faithful and true and he died for you because he loves you. Happy New Year, friends.