His compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23
New York City is a Christmas-tree graveyard on these January mornings, the curbsides lined with discarded Scotch and Norway pines, some still trailing bits of tinsel and the occasional ornament, waiting for collection.
For our dog Millie on our predawn walks, it’s an olfactory paradise. She treads carefully down the salted sidewalks with me in tow, sniffing the brown branches, requiring an occasional tug on the leash as a reminder that we can’t spend all day out here.
It’s strangely peaceful, this sidewalk forest, dreamlike and soul soothing. The snow drifts muffle the city’s sounds in a soft silence. People move slowly, hunched against the chill. It is the calm after the storm, I suppose.
The end of the year comes in such a frantic rush—we’re trying to get done everything we wanted to get done, see our families, celebrate the holidays. Who isn’t exhausted by the time New Year’s rolls up on us? Yet these early days of January feel slow and purposeful, as if we’re catching our breath and gathering our strength, an opportunity to reconnect with God, especially at this time of the morning.
The sun is coming up just a tiny bit earlier, but you wouldn’t notice unless you are like Millie and me, out at dawn every day. Millie veers toward another tree lying on its side. I let her inspect it briefly and then give her a little pull. It’s time to move on.
Father, let me begin my new year connected to You.
