GK Chesteron writes, "The object of a New Year is not that we should have a new year. It is that we should have a new soul; and a new nose, new feet, a new backbone, new ears, and new eyes."

I like it.

So I check out one of Chesterton's own new soul stories...

Chesterton (1874-1936) writes about his youth as "nightmare years"--at Slade School in London--where his outlook on life turned dark and despondent.  He remarked later that (after those years) what remained of religion was the "one thin thread of thanks."  A thin line with two strands: wonder and gratitude.

Frederick Buechner picks up the story, "It was at this time also that he met Frances Blogg, whom, after a long engagement, he married in 1901.  During the engagement, Frances' sister Gertrude was killed in a bicycle accident, and Frances was so prostrated with grief that directly after the funeral she went to Italy to recover.  At the funeral, all the flowers were white except for the ones that Chesterton sent, which were brilliant scarlet and orange and accompanied by a card that read, "He that maketh His angels spirits and His ministers a flame of fire."

While Frances was in Italy, he also wrote her a remarkable letter that further reveals the near euphoria that followed in the wake of the Slade year's nightmare.  "I do not think there is anyone who takes quite such a fierce pleasure in things being themselves as I do.  The startling wetness of water excites and intoxicates me; the fieriness of fire, the steeliness of steel, the unutterable muddiness of mud."     

One...  Chesterton chose scarlet flowers (for no apparent reason that we know of).    

And two...  The intensity of his passion for all things (fueled by his intoxication with wonder and gratitude) gave no heed whatsoever to public opinion.

Okay. Count me in.  

To live well,   

to laugh often   

and to love much.    

It sounds good, except that we live in a culture wanting to capture "it," or tame it, or make it manageable. 

Living life unabashed is one thing. (A part of me, however, is hoping that it comes with instructions.) And what do we do with these resolutions that beckon? I'm partial to Parker Palmer's take, instead of resolutions we ought to follow Rilke's famous advice about "living the questions," and carry into the New Year a few wonderings...

This means that it is okay to look with uncertainty to the year ahead. But if we wrap our lives around these life-giving questions--and live our way into them a bit more every day--the better world we want and need, is more likely to come into being.  

A couple of years ago I found this book--Wreck This Journal--at our local bookshop.  And here's the deal: she (Keri Smith) means it, each page an invitation to an eccentric and uninhibited act.  (e.g. "Bring this book in the shower with you," "Fill in this page when you are really angry," "Pour, spill, drip, spit your coffee here."  "Lose this page. Throw it out. Accept the loss.")  The book challenges everything in us that abhors messy.  This is from Keri's introduction:  "Warning: during the process of this book you will get dirty.  You may find yourself covered in paint, or any other number of foreign substances.  You will get wet.  You may be asked to do things you question.  You may grieve for the perfect state that you found the book in.   You may begin to see creative destruction everywhere.  You may begin to live more recklessly."

Oh my!

In this world of diagnosis and pro-scriptions, here's another story that stands out...

The chief executive of a large company was greatly admired for his energy and drive.  But he suffered from one embarrassing weakness: each time he entered the president's office to make his weekly report, he would wet his pants!  The kindly president advised him to see a urologist, at company expense.  But when he appeared before the president the following week, his pants were again wet!  "Didn't you see the urologist?" asked the president.  "No, he was out.  I saw a psychiatrist instead, and I'm cured," the executive replied.  "I no longer feel embarrassed!"

Which brings us back to the red flowers.    

And begs the questions:     

What stops me from living fearlessly?

What stops me from doing what I say I want to do?

What if everything brave and beautiful that I've ever wanted to create (or do or choose or give or try or celebrate or embrace or feel) was hijacked by a fearful thought?  

It is easy to label our maladies and fearfulness.  We call them propriety, procrastination, perfectionism, attention deficit disorder, rectitude and living overwhelmed.  But they all have the same affect. And it brings us full circle, back to our striving (constraint, requirement) for control in our lives.  We do our darndest to plan out every detail, 

Can we know what to expect?

Can we can eliminate risk?

Can we can avoid getting hurt?

Can we can determine the path of least resistance?   

Well, whatever the reasoning, I can tell you from personal experience that it doesn't work.  Struggling (and it is a struggle) to control everything in our lives only leads to more stress, disappointment and heartache.  We're upset when we perceive that we've lost control (or really just when things don't go our way).  Which is kind of silly if you think about it, because control--a "right way" to live--is only an illusion.  Like it or not, we can't control what happens in our lives. 

But maybe, just maybe... it's not about the "right way" to live.    

Maybe it's just about the freedom to give scarlet flowers.

Do I dare?

NOTE: (1) Happy New Year friends...  

May 2015 be a year of light and life for you and yours.  

(2) Heartfelt gratitude for every gift / donation in the year 2014. They made Sabbath Moment possible. Your gift makes a difference. Thank you...