Something Brave and Beautiful

This is a devotional from the December edition of "Focus on the Family's, Brio Magazine" for teen girls. Natalie Lloyd writes a devotional for each issue, and they are so good! I really wanted to share this one with you guys!

Something Brave and Beautiful
by Natalie Lloyd
I couldn't see the tv in the lobby, but I could hear the crowds on the screen cheering. I pictured the people bundled up in wool coats, mittens and funky scarves. I pictured a giant sparkly ball ready to descend toward a new set of numbers. I knew confetti was flying through the air.
I tried to think about those things and not the pain in my stomach that had landed me there in the ER on New Year's Eve. The hypochondriac in me was prepared for the worst: Maybe my appendix had burst. Maybe I'd swallowed my night guard. (This hasn't happened, but I have a habit of spitting it out at night. I wake up in the morning in a panic until I find it.) A few hours later the ER doctor would finally drop in and tell me I just had a virus. As I was waiting, listening to a distant TV, a new sound eclipsed the unified roar of the people in Times Square. I heard a gurney being pulled through the door on the far side of the room. The room was frantic as people shouted orders.
I heard a long buzz that signified a flatline on a heart monitor. The shocks to the heart didn't work. The room grew weirdly quiet. Then someone called the time of death. Time of death?! In the same room I was in, somewhere on the other side of an ugly blue curtain, someone had died. I felt sick, even sicker than I felt when I first got there.
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, as it was a hospital. But it seemed so bizarre to me that while most of the world was celebrating, in the same room I was in someone's heart had stopped beating. Eventually, the quiet gave way to sniffles and sobs as family came into the room. That was not how I'd planned to spend my New Year's eve. Most years I sit around with my friends or my family, countdown from 10 to one, blow the kazoo and drink Cherry Coke. I fall into the same old cliche' New Year rituals : I make new plans and goals. I decide it's time to get back on the treadmill and refocus my writing and get back in touch with old friends. Dec. 31 becomes an eve of good intentions for me. The whole point of the day is to dream big and welcome a new beginning. My New Year's Eve in the emergency room reminded me that night doesn't just celebrate beginnings though: It signifies an end.
Living in Light of Eternity
On my way home, I started thinking about what I'd just seen in the emergency room. What if the situation had been reversed? What if my heart had stopped that night? It was kind of a morbid way to end the year, a far cry from my usual dreamy"conquer the world" mindset. But it was kind of fitting, too.
I'm all about thinking ahead and planning for the future, but the Bible tells me specifically not to bank on the future. I can try to trap time in a silver watch or measure it on a calendar, but I can't stop it from moving, I can't control it or hold onto it or bank up extra minutes to keep. I'm just told to do something important with it today. Instead of making another resolution that I would, in all likelihood, forget by Jan. 4, I approached the new year with a different attitude.
Shaking the Foundations
Isaiah 6 highlights a particularly pivotal year in the prophet's life. King Uzziah had passed away,
leaving Israel in turmoil and leaving Isaiah heartbroken. This is his friend and childhood hero. The grief and uncertainty must have been overwhelming. But the death of the king would not be what Isaiah remembered most about that year. In verse 6:1 the prophet writes "In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord seated on a throne, high and exalted , and the train of his robe filled the temple." I went to church with my friend Kay in Dallas recently, and her pastor gave me some cool insights on that verse.
"Remember," said Dr. St. John, "it may not have been the same day Uzziah died that Isaiah saw the Lord. We don't know his immediate reaction to losing his friend. We just know, at some point, he didn't let the chaos, the unknown or the unfamiliarity hold him back any longer."
At some point in that crazy year, Isaiah saw God move in a big way. When Isaiah is reminded of God's sovereignty, he does something brave and beautiful.
He says, "Here am I. Send me" (6:8)
That kind of attitude jolts my heart back to life this time of year. It's the kind of attitude that looks, with eager anticipation , towards the new. But it's also the attitude of a servant who is living his life in light of eternity. Uzziah's death reminded Isaiah of how fragile life is. With one whispered prayer, he dedicated every day he had left to the service of his God.
No More Empty Resolutions
This year, instead of making another list of good intentions, I want to try to live in light of eternity, too. I wrote this prayer in my journal:

Shake the foundations of my heart. Touch my lips and touch my life. I will not burn out this year; I will burn bright. Inasmuch as I can see you on this side of heaven, I want to see You. I want to learn to love the way you do. Change scares me. But in this moment of transition, in this season of weird unfamiliarity or sudden loss, I'm still going to look for You. I'm tired of sitting by my own private pity pool and comparing tan lines with other people. I'm not looking for their approval anymore. No more empty resolutions. No more frail intentions. This year, I want to do something brave and beautiful. From the deepest corner of my trembling heart, I'm whispering the same words Isaiah did: Here I am. Send me. Because my days don't mean anything if they don't belong to You.

Happy New Year's Eve, Brio Sisses! This year, don't let fear hold you back. Do something brave and beautiful.