An Alud Lang Syne Prayer

Divine Mystery,

I stand on a cliff

at the edge of a continent

facing out to sea.

Behind me,

the terra firma,

the monuments, the memories,

the dead, the living,

the year 2023,

and all the years of my life

proceeding it.

Before me,

like the fluid,

rolling sea,

lies 2024.

I look out at the vast

expanse of possibilities,

feel the breeze on my face,

and watch

as waves and currents

undulate back and forth.

A siren swaying her hips.

Alluring and dangerous.

Like Peter,

I long to step out onto the water

and walk assuredly through the coming year,

greeting each day

with faith, and hope, and optimism.

But I am not a good swimmer.

I fear drowning under

the weight of:

anxieties about

what might happen,

my nagging mistrust

of human folly,

and my own lack of fitness.

My 2024 calendar

is filling up with

appointments,

holidays,

birthdays,

vacations.

All bobbing on the surface.

Buoys I navigate by every year.

But as I stand here,

preparing to embark on

another year,

realizing that there are

more years behind me

than years ahead,

the horizon looms closer

than I am usually

willing to admit.

The preciousness

of this new year

overcomes me.

I don’t want to hit

 the snooze button

and sleepwalk my way

 through 2024,

unaware of the uniqueness

that it will hold.

I want to love this year

as if it were an only child.

To watch it evolve and grow.

To hold the good and the bad

and engage, enjoy,

and, yes, endure

whatever it brings.

When the currents get too strong

and I begin to sink,

I will certainly cry out,

“Lord, save me.”

I know that you will reach

 out your strong arm

and pull me up

out of deep water.

I will take in

a great gasp of air,

and together,

 we will start in again

on the sublime human experiment

of being alive in the world

and alive in the Spirit.