It started with a sermon.
I sat near the back row of my church on a late Wednesday night, the year had just rolled over less than two weeks ago, and sermons were still peppered with hopeful resolutions, and yearnings that THIS year would be the game-changer.
Not my thing.
I clutched my son close, falling asleep at my side, and my daughter on the other, resting her head. I don't even make resolutions, so it's not often you'll catch stars in my eyes because we'd moved from December to January.
Still, I listened. My pastor, Tye Tribbett, spoke passionately, and then dropped his theme for the year:
"This year, God says, EVERYTHING in your life is coming up."
And then something happened I didn't fully expect, I wholeheartedly believed him.
I started writing notes furiously, for some reason this sermon struck a chord in my typical New Year cynicism. They read:
"This is the year of the come up. The weight will be loosened and burdens lifted. This is the year of results and fulfilled faith. This is the last year you're going to be believing God for certain things. Get ready to shift your faith. You're about to live what you've been seeing."
I believed him.