2024 Was My Terminal Year...

I encountered this question from a book: "What would it look like if this were my terminal year?" I divided these short lists into two: one that requires resources for it to happen and another that requires zero resources except my well being to express.

Part of it was "daily moments with wife & sons & Coco..." It did happen except we added one fur member, Ollie. And he's one who really wants those moments all to himself. Another is the generosity of my time to share lives with others. And lastly, a book and a journal/planner.

I was very sure about the last one. But like I said, it requires my well being. And this year was not the most consistent. There were days when time moved differently. When my body felt distant from itself. When the simplest actions required immense deliberate effort. These weren't just moments of losing focus or feeling scattered - they were hours or days of existing in a different layer of reality.

The dread to do what I was intended to do with my life as if it were your last year to live was piling up. So I decided, with my wife's encouragement, to go back to counseling. Like me being the client just to be clear. It helped me to understand myself better with the unique parts of my history. It felt freeing to experience how being able to tap into better self-awareness actually helps me in the way I relate with God.

2023 was mostly a journey to reclaim the voice God has given me. Not the singing because clearly, I don't have it. My sons would be the first to stop me. 2024 is that year when I learned that healing isn't just about fixing what's broken - it's about understanding the story each crack tells.

All these years I'm convinced that two things matter most: shalom - God's complete wholeness that encompasses every broken and beautiful part of us - and the profound gift of being human, with all its messiness and dignity. They're not just concepts; they're the very air we breathe when we're truly alive.

As I write this first newsletter from a coffee shop, I realize something: Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is simply start. Start with whatever we have, wherever we are.

I began this year asking what I'd do if it were my terminal year. I end it by actually doing one of those things - even if the path here wasn't straight, even when time moved differently, even when each step required immense effort.

This newsletter is one of those small steps. Remember that list that needed zero resources except my well being? Writing was there, waiting. Not for perfect timing or perfect wellness, but for me to simply begin.

The coming days will be full of reflection... I'll start it daily this week, then settle into a weekly rhythm. I hope that each email you receive allows you to sip well. This year, I decided I won't settle for what I thought was okay. Safe to say, I had to decide to even just get a hold of the cup and then eventually sip well.

Think of these emails as companions to your moments of pause - whether you're having your morning coffee, evening tea, or those quiet moments when you need space for silence, introspection, or simply finding your center again.

You're probably expecting me to challenge you to ask the same question.

Why won't I? Because your journey is yours. Where you're at may have a unique invitation.

And maybe you too have something waiting to begin.

Because starting isn't about having it all figured out - it's about taking that first step while trusting that God's work of making us whole happens right here, in our beautiful, messy humanity.