New Year, Same Me (Still Learning)

As many of you know, I had surgery at the end of January. I thought recovery would be quick. It hasn’t been. It’s the kind that lingers. Slows you down in small ways you don’t expect. The kind where “rest” sounds simple until you try to actually do it here. If you want more of that story, it’s over at lifeoffering.org.

Also before I forget— Happy New Year! 🥳🎉

Yes, I know. We’re a little past that now. Maybe closer to “Happy Easter.” But this is the version of “on-time” that won this year.

The Part That Didn’t Come

We had planned for this to be our biggest New Year’s yet.

Since September, through the schools, we’ve gotten to know these kids — their names, their personalities, the way they run to the gate before we even open it. So we built toward this night.

Tubs filled. Shelves cleared. We pretty much emptied every Dollar Tree in Lexington, Kentucky trying to prepare.

Backpacks packed with toiletries, water bottles, glow jewelry, dolls, balls, kites, Legos, rackets, little toys — all of it ready to be handed out.

And then the boat didn’t come.

All of it… still sitting somewhere else. Not here.  So we adjusted.

Ziplock bags. Candy. Popcorn. Small prizes — a yoyo, a bouncy ball, a bracelet. Something simple. Something small. Just enough so no one would leave empty-handed.

PARTY TIME

By the time the sun went down, they were already at the gates. The party started at 6:30pm but most of the kids were there at 4pm. Kids pressing in, peeking through, calling out. Waiting.

And then they came. Over 300 kids filled the campus — loud, moving, already laughing before anything had even started.

We handed out what we had. Not what we planned. Just what was there.

Between the hours and hours of cartoons, we called 20 kids at a time to play games. Each one wore a bracelet that had a number. Something small to keep order in the middle of noise. They’d play, win a small prize, we’d slip it off their wrist, and send them back into the crowd.

We set up a camera so the games were projected on the court. So no one really waited. They leaned forward. Cheered. Laughed like it mattered who won.   It did.

Making Sure No One Was Missed

Near the end of the night, we called forward every child who still had a bracelet on.

One by one. No rushing. No skipping. Every single kid walked away with something in their hands.

Every single one. We finished with fireworks. Loud. A little chaotic. Exactly what they wanted.

The Part I Carried

It wasn’t the night I had prepared for or envisioned. I could still picture those backpacks – filled to the brim & weighing more than the kids did. Everything we had planned to give. Everything that didn’t make it. That part sat heavy.

But there wasn’t a single child who walked out disappointed. Not one. 

I was the only one holding onto what was missing. They were only holding what they had.

And I’m starting to realize… how often I measure things by what didn’t come.

How quickly I decide something fell short… just because it didn’t look the way I imagined.

But the kids didn’t feel that. They came. They played. They laughed. They left full. And maybe that’s what I’m carrying into this new year — learning to see what’s actually in front of me, not just what I thought should have been.

Learning to trust that God is still at work… even when the boat doesn’t come. Even when things don’t arrive on time. Even when it feels like something is missing. Because maybe nothing was missing at all. Maybe I just wasn’t seeing it yet.

Sometimes the only place something feels incomplete… is in my own hands.