He must have felt strangely bold. Felt like the winds were telling him to turn over a new leaf. Felt like doing something about it.
Anyway, she seemed all about it. Something about the way she looked at him. Sort of laid eyes on him. Anyone would know it if they saw it.
So he sidled over. He talked to her friends’ boyfriends first. Sports and “What are you drinking?” and the weather. About how it was 12:08 on New Years, and it was bitterly cold.
Then he talked to her friends about whatever they were talking about. They looked at him too, but knowingly, gleefully. Everyone has intentions on New Years. Everyone premeditates on this day.
And eventually, once these girls approved, they passed him off to her. The her. Because everyone saw how they looked at each other. Because it was New Years, and these two were young and single. What did anyone think was going to happen!
So they’re chatting away, looking, and, occasionally, really looking, so as to say way more than could be said with mere words.
At one point she takes a sip of his drink. He smiles, but not too big. She teases him and he nearly falls over laughing. He leans on her shoulder when other people pass by—because there are still other people here. But it barely feels that way.
Sitting on the ugly plaid sofa, he puts his arm around her. She positively snuggles. He hates that word—they both do—but they like the feel of it. He’s just thinking, Happy New Years, indeed!
And at the end of the night he says something simple, planned in general and yet off-the-cuff in specifics: “Do you want to get dinner this weekend?”
She looks at him, like this is confusing. “I thought we were just friends.” So she doesn’t hug him when she leaves, which she does right away.
He wonders if maybe he had too much wine, because that would be an easier answer, but he knows he didn’t.
He’ll know better next time, somehow. He won’t be tricked—trick himself. This had to happen. Something about the spirit and the flesh. This is for the best.
* * *
She wants to lose ten pounds. That’s it, she thinks. She’s resolved to do it. Expecting it. That’s how set in stone this is.
January 1 and the gym is packed, but who cares? This is part of it.
Lots of treadmilling. Lots of cardio. The occasional heavy weights. The good burn. Look at me now, world.
Two weeks in and a few pounds checked off. But it’s a birthday today. It’s an office party. It’s something. Whatever it is, there’s chocolate. Don’t these people know I’m being healthier this year! Don’t they know anything about fitness!
So only a little chocolate. Only a little more. This is a reward for something.
Another two weeks and it’s been two pounds lost, two pounds regained. Three pounds lost, one pound regained. Pounds off, pounds on. For some reason—physics, maybe—she’s still wearing the same pair of jeans she wore in December.
She tells people, “I lost eight pounds.” Nevermind she gained six back. “Eight total,” she says, telling herself This is a type of honesty.
Next month she’ll work harder. Next month she’ll do this, that and the other thing.
No, I’ll think differently, she resolves. My mind is more important than my mirror. And she’s trying to believe it.
* * *
He will kick the habit. She will get promoted. He will read all those books. She’ll be more adventurous. You will do whatever it is you set out to do. Won’t you?
But it crosses your mind, Not my will, but Yours be done. Also: I hereby resolve to commit to Your resolutions for me.
And this is a little bit comforting, but mostly annoying. Because what if God doesn’t intend for you to head toward that promotion, wasn’t planning on sticking to your timetables?
Well, that doesn’t sound that great. But God works all things together for your good. But this is for my good, isn’t it? But we see through a glass darkly. But you’re looking straight ahead, and this seems terribly clear.
Why wouldn’t God want this for me? Doesn’t he give us the desire of our hearts? I know, I know, it’s complicated.
So you do the only thing you think must be right. You pray. You pray to the God who is the Supreme and Supremely Faithful Author of the Universe.
And you realize, God sanctifies me through the work. He sanctifies me through the relationships. He sanctifies me through the striving and the turmoil and the waiting. And, when he answers prayer—whatever the answer is—that too will work toward sanctification. But for now, prayer itself—the simple act, the barest resolve, the leaning on God in all things—is a means by which He sanctifies.
And you just keep going forward—toward tomorrow, toward the sweeter rest—because you can’t wait to see the Redemption of All Things.
After a few years spent correcting grammatical errors and writing subtle, clever headlines in a Chicago newsroom, Griffin Paul Jackson (’11) now does aid work with refugees in Lebanon. He writes about that, God, and, when the muse descends, Icelandic sheep. Read him here: griffinpauljackson.com.
