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Instead, I will ask that Your resolutions be mine.
Your path, my path. Your will, my will.
Let us walk headlong into this new year together.

There is no celebration in my soul.
I turn to You, source of meaning, knower of sorrow.

Creator God, healer of all ills,
I place my health into your hands.
Guide the hand of my surgeon.

My faith is threadbare, worn almost to a whisper.
And yet I need You more than ever.

Now it is over. Our ties severed painfully, or simply faded away from disuse.
We are not what we were.