“You smell good,” someone whispers, as we both move from hug to hug in the group gathering around the coffee and snacks table. It’s Tuesday night, and defying the tropical downpour outside, we pour into this oasis, thirsty for the kind of warm community that makes the soul feel seen and safe.

Rays of sunshine finds you pressed into the shadows of familiar fears. The unexpected light makes you close your eyes, the warmth relaxes your tense face. I watch the tight armor loosen its grip on your vigilant muscles.

If 2014 treated you harshly, you are not alone. So many solid, sincere souls echo the shared lamentation: This year was rough! Not just “I’m exhausted/disappointed/stressed out” rough – no, this was the kind of wicked, whipping torment more akin to a hurricane relentlessly pounding on people already shipwrecked, just barely holding on to the remnants of their man-made security for sheer survival.

Waiting is a womb pregnant with hope and fear. Worst case scenarios wrestle with words of promise, and through it, a deeper yielding grows inside.