(Thank you Debbie Barker for submitting this week’s devotional.)

 

Every year around this time, something happens to me. While most people are soaking up the last days of summer, I’m practically giddy.

Forget January 1.

For me, the real New Year begins in late August.

I’ve always been this way. As a child, I loved walking through the school supply aisles. Apparently, I’ve always been a nerd. (I know… everyone thinks I’m so cool. Sorry to burst your bubble.) While other kids were eyeing the latest toys, I was admiring spiral notebooks, fresh packs of crayons, and pens that hadn’t yet written a single word. Even now, those school supply displays that start showing up in July make me inwardly, and occasionally outwardly, squeal with delight. A “quick stop” at Target this time of year somehow always ends with a detour through the school supply aisle. It’s practically a pilgrimage.

There’s something magical about a brand-new notebook. Its pages are crisp and unwritten, waiting to be filled with ideas, dreams, mistakes, doodles, and lessons learned.

A freshly sharpened pencil stands at attention, ready for its first assignment.

A pen is brimming with ink, eager to tell a story.

A backpack is still clean, free from crumpled permission slips, lost homework, stinky forgotten fruit, and various trinkets that get tossed to the bottom.

Everything whispers the same beautiful promise: You get to begin again.

Working in an elementary school library only magnifies those feelings for me. These last weeks of summer have been a whirlwind of preparation. We hang bright new bulletin boards, sharpen pencils, organize bins of fresh crayons, display newly purchased books, move books to make them easier for little hands to reach, and lovingly repair well-worn books whose pages have been read one too many times.

There is something deeply satisfying about getting everything ready for children who haven’t even walked through the doors yet.

Every sharpened pencil says, “Someone is going to learn something new.”

Every book on display whispers, “Come discover an adventure.”

Every repaired book reminds me that even things that have been worn, torn, dog-eared, and loved nearly to pieces still have something valuable to offer.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always loved this season. It isn’t really about school supplies. I think it’s about hope. There’s something about a fresh beginning that reminds us that our story isn’t finished yet. Maybe that’s why God filled Scripture with stories of new beginnings.

Morning comes after the darkest night.
Mercies are new every morning.
Noah steps onto dry ground after the rains.
Ruth marries again with Boaz.
Jonah gets a second chance to head to Nineveh..
Peter is restored after his greatest failure.
Saul becomes Paul.
Dry bones live again.
And an empty tomb reminds us that what looks like the end may actually be the beginning of something entirely new.

God seems to be in the business of reminding us that He is not finished. And maybe we need that reminder because, unlike those pristine notebooks on the store shelves, most of us don’t feel particularly new.

We come into new seasons carrying things with us. Some pages of our lives are filled with things we’re proud of. Others contain mistakes we wish we could erase. There are chapters we would happily reread and others we would rather tear out altogether.

Some of us probably feel a little more like those library books I’ve been repairing lately — worn around the edges, ripped and battered, torn pages, maybe even held together with extra tape.

But still valuable.

Still useful.

Still holding a story worth sharing.

I love that God doesn’t require us to have crisp pages and an unbroken spine before He can use us. He has always been remarkably good at working with worn out people. He has shown us many examples in His Word.

In Isaiah 43:19, God says, “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”

Notice He doesn’t say, See, I am giving you an entirely new life where nothing difficult has ever happened.

He says, I am doing a new thing.

Right here.

In this life.

With your story.

With these dog-eared pages. Torn. Battered. Barely held together.

Maybe the new thing God wants to do in us doesn’t require us to erase everything that came before it. Maybe He simply asks us to trust Him with the next page. And sometimes, before we ever see what God is doing, He is already preparing the way.

That may be what I love most about these weeks in the library. We are preparing for children who aren’t there yet. We sharpen pencils before anyone needs them. We put books on shelves before anyone comes looking for them. We repair pages before another little hand turns them.

And I wonder how often God is doing the same thing in our lives.

Preparing places we haven’t reached yet.

Putting people in place we haven’t met yet.

Teaching us things we don’t yet realize we’ll need.

Repairing something in us that will someday become part of how we help someone else.

We may not be able to see what He is preparing, but that doesn’t mean He isn’t at work.

So maybe late August is a little like January 1 after all. Not because we need a date on the calendar to reinvent ourselves, but because sometimes we need a reminder that with God, we are never stuck on the page we’re currently living.

There is another page.

Another chapter.

Another opportunity to learn, grow, forgive, trust, try again, or simply believe that God is still working.  Maybe every blank page carries a quiet reminder from God that there is still more to your story.

Maybe your life doesn’t feel like a brand-new notebook right now. Maybe it feels more like the well-loved library book with the torn cover and the taped-up pages.

That’s okay.

God has never needed perfect pages to write a beautiful story.

Perhaps that is the real promise hidden among all those notebooks, pencils, crayons, and backpacks every August. God is still writing. Whatever the last chapter held — joy or disappointment, mistakes or victories, beginnings we welcomed or endings we never wanted — it is not the end of the story. God is still at work, still making things new, still filling blank pages with purpose. We may not know what the next page holds, but we know the One who does. So maybe that’s why I’ll always love  notebooks. It reminds me that there are still pages to be written, new beginnings to embrace, and a faithful God holding the pen.

 

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I hear the school supply aisle calling my name. And if I happen to come home with another notebook I absolutely do not need…well…let’s just call it an investment in the story God is writing.

(And that is a good excuse to give Steve when I carry in my Target bag.)