Near in the New Year

“When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul.”—Psalm 94:19

It’s one of my favorite Christmas gifts—a handmade (with the help of technology) 2013 “Addison” calendar. On the cover my 10 month-old granddaughter holds a 2013 sign, her big blue eyes wide with wonder.

Flipping each page of the calendar sporting a picture of Addie taken in the same month of 2012, I recall those precious moments—her debut in February; her first Easter in March; Mother’s Day when my whole family gathered for a photo on the church steps. And the summer months when I took care of Addie while her parents worked.

I remember cradling Addie in the crook of my arm, rocking in the old porch rocker, both of us lulled by the sounds of the morning, birds chirping, bullfrogs croaking, and a tractor chugging in the distance.  Addie’s curious blue eyes brightened, as she babbled in response.   I remember trail walks, Addie strapped snug in her stroller, mesmerized by bright green foliage and yellow butterflies, soothed by the rhythm of the carriage. I remember car rides that without fail calmed Addie to sleep. I came to know Addie’s cries, signaling food, sleep, or attention. I knew what would make her smile and gurgle and what would comfort her. Except for one day.

I placed her in the bouncy seat, handing her a favorite plush monkey.  But when I turned to tidy up the kitchen, she cried. I placed her on the play mat strewn with other toys sure to entertain, but when I walked away she cried. I offered her the bottle, but she refused. That was not like Addie. Obviously she wasn’t feeling well.  Perhaps she has a sore throat.  Maybe she’s in pain. I remembered the calming car rides and had an idea.  With no need to drive anywhere, I decided on letting her rest in the familiar car seat (in the house), hoping its hugging curvature would work wonders. I strapped her in and the crying stopped. But when I walked away, big tears streamed once again. The kitchen would have to wait. I turned and settled next to her.

“What’s wrong, Addie?” I grasped her tiny hand, and the crying stopped as her eyes fixed on mine.  Did Addie just want me to sit with her?

Sometimes we may feel like Addie.  We cry out in pain and wonder, Does God hear me?  Does He see my tears? Maybe we just want someone to sit with us. 

Perhaps our memories of 2012 are clouded with the loss of a loved one, unemployment, or a devastating diagnosis.  And while others are gearing up for New Year’s parties, we are anxious—fearful even of what 2013 may bring.  Worry plagues our mind around the clock, and we find it hard to concentrate on anything else—even praying—for our prayers seem like worn-out rhetoric. 

Do You hear me, Lord?  Do You see my pain?

The bible says He does.

For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their prayer—1 Peter 3:12

And sometimes He will send a loved one to sit with us through the pain.  But all the while, He is there—closer than a grandmother.  For as much as they’d like to be in two places at once, grandmothers cannot.  But God is there all the time for all His children, watching over us, never slumbering.  He recognizes all our cries and knows what we need better than a grandmother.  

Dear Lord, thank You for Your calming presence and Your faithfulness and for sitting with me, holding my hand, as I ring in 2013 and every new day on the calendar. Amen.