I’m sitting in my kitchen writing next to my roommate in Nashville. He’s a hard-working accountant, and I’m a broke musician who pretends to work. I’ve only been here for two months but we’ve become fast friends, jamming Mumford and Sons in the kitchen with out-of-tune guitars.

Yeah no one cares when the cameras are off.

I have a stack of journals next to me dating back to the spring when I discerned out of the Legion (a chronicle I’m preparing for another time) to this afternoon praying through resolutions for the new year.

A stark reminder of the fact that God has, in fact, taken care of me.

A stack of five journals (mostly from the last year and a half) are a firm testament to his goodness and care. There are entries from Guadalajara, Abidjan, Bologna, and random patches of trees in the Pisgah National Forest.

He’s been so good to me.

Driving into New Orleans for a family Christmas celebration, I called a close friend of mine to pass the time.

We concluded that I am, in fact, hopelessly disorganized.

But more importantly we concluded that this past year for both of us had been one of challenge and change, and that the personal growth we had both experienced was exponentially linked to the amount of both of these.

I don’t really do math.

But I noticed that the more challenge had entered our lives, the more things that had changed, the more we strapped on our guns and started to become the men in our cowboy dreams.

Why am I writing this? To wax poetic about the man I feel like I’m becoming?

To list off a year’s worth of achievements that I’m not even responsible for?

Okay maybe a little bit of the first one: progress and growth are hard things to keep quiet about.

But definitely not the second. I’m certain all of us are bored to tears scrolling through our instagram, Facebook and LinkedIn feeds to remind ourselves just how much more others achieved this year than we did.

I am.

So allow me to steal the next five minutes of your coffeeshop time attempting to churn up in your heart and mine a recognition of what our Father changed this past year, and what he could be asking you to change in the new one.

To describe the change, I need to begin with the challenge that started it all,

I don’t think the word “challenge” quite summarizes what many of us went through this past year. If it does then I’m happy your low moments don’t call to mind descriptors like “desperation,” “hopelessness,” “terror,” and the like.

There’s no belittling tone to detect here: I truly am happy for you. The last few years of seminary were full of little “challenges” for me.

The last few years out here on the range have left a different aftertaste.

But in order to maintain a consistency with the title, we’ll stick with “challenge.”

And one thing in particular challenged me most this past year.

Facing my unhappiness.

It’s easy to deaden or numb the throb of unhappiness in my heart. A few drinks (forgive me I am Catholic), an hour or so in the gym, a dream gig or two. But simply suppressing the ache doesn’t make it disappear.

Forgive me again: I’m young, naive and learning many of these things for the first time.

And the ache grew until living by myself was torment. Staring at the ceiling night after night trying to fall asleep but not wanting to wake up. I made all sort of lifestyle changes. I got rid of my TV, I traded my evening bourbon for an evening tea, picked up a good book (more like seven), and convinced myself that I simply hadn’t put my finger on the right hurting muscle.

Does this sound familiar? I hope it doesn’t.

If it does then I may have to diagnose you with a mild (but soon to be severe) case of unhappiness.

It calls to mind a cutting scene from the New Testament, where Jesus had once again gone up on the mountain to speak with his Father while his disciples remained at the base to man the ship.

The novice farm hands attempting to wrangle a steer while the real cowboy catches up on some R&R. Don’t worry: he’ll be back.

A man brings his son to them who is possessed by a demon. Easy enough. They’d watched the Master cast out dozens of these spiritual pricks with a wave of his hand and a reference to his divine Father.

Give me two seconds we’re getting to the point I promise.

Well, the disciples try all the means at their disposal and embarrass themselves in front of the child’s father (much to the demon’s amusement as well I’m sure).

And this past year I found myself in the same shoes. Or sandals, rather.

I had tried to change so many habits of my current lifestyle in order to face the challenge of my unhappiness that I too got frustrated and almost kicked the proverbial bucket.

You heard me right: a story for another time. End scene and enter Jesus.

I can imagine the caring but confused look on the Master’s face as he descends the mountain. As he throws a rope over his shoulder, buckles on his spurs, and casts a concerned glance over his dirt stained disciples.

Why the myriad of small changes? Why not begin with the basics?

Oof.

Now I know what you’re thinking. I do pray. I do fast. I go to daily mass.

I said the same thing.

Jesus, I’m praying every day. I’m not watching TV. I’m going to the early mass (I’m painfully not a morning person, especially not after leaving religious life).

So why am I still unhappy?

The truth, friends, is not that we haven’t made the perfect resolution. Nor is it that we simply don’t pray or fast enough, and it’s time do double down and buckle up.

The truth lies rather in the nameless but benevolent young man who approached our Lord and asked him what was “left” for him to do after living a life of extreme virtue.

After having been looked upon by our Lord and loved by Him. (the look in Jesus’ face, He who loves ALL people, can only be described as one of a particular “love”).

Notice what he doesn’t say is “go, download the app, pay $70, and start Exodus 90.”

Or even “go, sign up online, and start at your local Crossfit gym.”

He says “follow me.”

The distinction here, friends, is not the amount of prayer but rather how we’re praying.

And this distinction is what drove me to the edge.

Praying with your whole life, plans, trajectory, and even desires is a completely separate sort than that of pulling up Hallow and keeping our streak.

Yeah I went there and I’m not sorry about it.

Praying in this sense can be exchanged with “listening.”

And praying as listening is what led me from my unhappiness in Baton Rouge, over the candy cane forests and the sea of whirly, swirly gumdrops to Nashville. After a few stops of course (mostly to eat gumdrops).

Praying as listening is what led me to face the challenge with the only change that would lead me closer to Him and closer to happiness.

A total uprooting and placing of my desires and dreams in His hands, and a concrete listening with the intent to change. And all of this in a way that I haven’t been comfortable with in a long time.

Not ever: just in a long time.

You know my faults. By no means have I achieved the sainthood that I desire. But I can say that the demon that festered, the ache I tried to suppress, is, how do you put it?

gone.

It’s difficult to harbor unhappiness in the depths when the depths have been plumbed and given over to the light. When the things previously providing small doses of comfort and numbing have been thrown in the biohazard box and left behind to rot.

My stack of resolutions last year has been narrowed to less than fifth of the page, mostly because I’m letting Him fill in the rest.

But they’re starting with a true abandonment to His will for me. A selling of my comforts and an attempt to follow His leading in my prayer without ceasing.

The rest I’ll share later over coffee if you and I get the time.

But know that this new year I’m praying that all of us have the courage to change the things that matter, and face the challenges that can shape us into the people who walk in our dreams. We aren’t all in the station of life where God is asking us to hop on a different train and head to a different ranch entirely.

But we can all commit to listening with intention in our prayer to see what train the Master is arriving on, and if we are in fact happy where we are.

Happy twenty twenty-six.