I don’t feel like a new creation.
These days, most days, I feel stuck. Stuck in old ways, old habits, old insecurities, old sins. It’s as though I’m in a swamp, my legs and arms encased in thick sludge, and I can only move forward one inch at a time. Some days it feels like centimeters.
I don’t know if this particular “stuckness” is due to seasonal depression, spiritual warfare, sin nature, or something else entirely, but it’s lasted for several months now and I’m tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally.
As a new year comes speeding towards me like a motorboat, I find myself feeling reluctantly hopeful. That’s because every time New Year’s Eve comes around, I fall headfirst into the same pattern.
I start the year off strong, determined to make all the changes in my life that I’ve been wanting to make since June. Eating better. Exercising more. Starting my day earlier. Spending more time in the Word. Investing more energy in the hobbies and dreams I’ve been putting off. Being a better friend, daughter, sister, human.
It lasts for about a month. Maybe two. Maybe even three or four, if it’s a really good year.
And then, inevitably, I stumble into that swamp again. I hit snooze a few too many times and get out of bed with just enough time to shower (maybe) before work. Forget working out, reading the Bible, or writing another chapter of my book. I tell myself I’ll get to those things later in the day, but then I come home and the couch calls to me. A few minutes of scrolling on my phone turns into hours — broken only by a nap or the need to eat something — and eventually I realize that it’s past the bedtime I set for myself.
Tomorrow will be better, I think as I climb wearily upstairs. And sometimes, it is.
Often, it isn’t.
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This is a glimpse of what my days have looked like in harder seasons, and I’ve been in one of those seasons recently. Scrolling on my phone is sometimes replaced by healthier activities like going to Bible study or spending time with loved ones, but even then I still go to bed with a nagging sense of restlessness, my mind swarming with all the things I wanted to do that day but didn’t.
What happened, God? I thought this year was going to be different. I thought I was going to be different. You say that once I believed in Jesus I became new (2 Corinthians 5:16), but right now I feel broken.
Your swamp may look different than mine, but I have a feeling you can relate in some way. Life never quite turns out the way we imagined it would when we were children, our eyes sparkling with hope for the future. We grow up with dreams derailed by trauma, sickness, loss, abuse, and sin.
So where is the hope? How do we rejoice when we’re in the swamp and dry land seems so far?
I can’t prescribe a five-step improvement plan. I’m still learning what works for me, and it’s a combination of taking medication, seeking accountability, and implementing better structure into my days — including making time to abide in the Lord and His Word.
Sometimes — usually at the beginning of a new year — I keep up with these things and feel fantastic. I’m the one sitting in the motorboat, waving to the crocodiles and other swamp creatures below.
But when the boat hits a rut and I find myself back in the muck I thought I left behind, I will remember 2 Corinthians 4:6–7.
“For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.”
It wasn’t until a few months ago, while studying this passage with my Willowdale Women’s Bible study group, that I grasped the meaning of verse seven for the first time.
We, God’s people, are the jars of clay. “Jars of clay” refers to earthen vessels that were fragile and easily broken. They were part of everyday life in Paul’s time. There was nothing special about a clay jar.
Does this description ring true for you, too? On our lowest days we feel commonplace and disposable, like plastic containers saved from a Chinese takeout night. If someone could peel away our skin and look straight into our souls, they would see cracks covering us like spider webs, exposing our weakness.
But it’s not the jar that matters. It’s what’s inside the jar.
Inside these weak, ordinary jars is the most beautiful treasure in the world. We are handmade vessels holding the light of Christ. His love makes us new. His light illuminates our darkness.
And when we break, that light shines through us all the brighter.
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If you haven’t already I strongly encourage you to listen to O Come, All You Unfaithful by Sovereign Grace Music and watch the video that goes along with it. I have had this song on repeat since the beginning of December and it has been a balm to my soul.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Christ has come for us.
ABOUT OUR BLOGGER
Kati Lynn Davis grew up in Chester County. After a brief stay on the other side of Pennsylvania to earn a writing degree from the University of Pittsburgh, she returned to the area and got a job working for a local library. When she isn’t writing, Kati enjoys reading, drawing, watching movies (especially animated ones!), drinking bubble tea, hanging out with her family cat, and going for very slow runs. Kati is pretty sure she’s an Enneagram 4 but is constantly having an identity crisis over it, so thankfully she’s learning to root her sense of self in Jesus.