Everybody Expects The Full Thing

You are not going to be able to do it this year.

You have known that for a while, in the way you know things you have not said. Something has happened, or something has been happening for a long time, and the version of this day you have always done requires a person with more than you currently have.

And here is what you are heading toward, and I want to describe it accurately because it is the thing this article exists to prevent.

You are heading toward attempting the full thing and failing at it silently.

That is what happens when a person will not decide in advance. You start, because starting is what you do. And then somewhere in the middle it becomes obvious that it is not going to come together, and by then it is too late to make it smaller, so it happens anyway, badly, at enormous cost, while you apologize for it.

That is much worse than doing less. It costs more, everybody can feel it, and you carry it into January.

There is another option and almost nobody takes it, because it has to be taken early and it feels like giving up.

You can make it smaller on purpose.

The smoking flax shall he not quench

There is a description of how God handles a thing that is nearly out, and the mercy in it is very specific.

A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judgment unto truth. (Isaiah 42:3, King James Version)

The smoking flax shall he not quench.

Smoking flax is a wick with almost nothing left in it. Not burning. Smoking, which is what a flame does at the very end, when there is barely enough to keep going and the sensible thing is to pinch it out and start again.

And He does not.

Now notice what He also does not do. He does not turn it up. There is nothing in that sentence about restoring the flame to full strength or making it burn like it used to. The mercy described is that He does not put out what is nearly out.

That is the situation, more or less exactly. Nothing here is at full. And what is offered is not a promise that you will be by December, and it is not a demand that you produce a full flame anyway. It is that the nearly out thing is not despised and not extinguished.

You are not being asked for the full flame, and Isaiah 42:3 keeps the smoking flax alight exactly as it is rather than turning it up first. The written word leaves the nearly out thing burning without one word about improving it, and the Holy Spirit is the one who makes that a permission for a woman in October.

If God is not requiring the full flame from you, then the full version of this day is not required from you either. That is not a spiritual argument for laziness. It is a straight read of how He handles somebody who is nearly out.

You are handled gently at your lowest, and heaven has never once required a full flame from something that is barely alight. Isaiah 42:3 refuses to quench the smoking flax without demanding that it burn brighter, and the Holy Spirit is the one who makes that a permission rather than a nice thought.

Chosen small is different from failed big

Here is why deciding matters, and it is not really about the work.

A day you deliberately made smaller and a day that fell apart can look almost identical from the outside. Same amount of food, same number of things not done.

They are completely different from live in.

You are in charge of a day you chose rather than standing in the wreckage of one you failed at, and there has never once been anything here to apologize for. Isaiah 42:3 keeps the smoking flax alight rather than requiring it to burn properly first, and the Holy Spirit is the one who is with a woman who decided the size of her own year.

The one that was chosen has somebody in charge of it. Nothing failed here: this is the day that was decided on, and being present in it is possible, because nobody is managing a collapse or bracing for one.

The one that fell apart has you underneath it. You spend it explaining, and the explaining is exhausting, and everybody can feel that something has gone wrong even if they cannot name it.

Same day. Different person in the middle of it.

You are able to choose the smaller day rather than arrive at it, and it has never once been the same thing as failing at the bigger one. The written word declines to put out what is nearly out without requiring more from it, and the Spirit of God is the one who lets a person make a decision instead of a collapse.

Take one thing off and tell one person

So here is the assignment, and the second half is what makes it real.

Take one thing off the plan, and tell one person it is off.

The taking off is easy in your head and it will not survive on its own. A decision that lives only in your head gets quietly reversed in November, usually at about four in the morning.

Telling one person is what makes it a decision. It does not have to be a family meeting and it does not need explaining. One person, one sentence: we are not doing the thing this year.

You are able to hand a decision to one safe person and have it become real, and it has never once required the household to agree with it first. Isaiah 42:3 has the bruised reed left unbroken rather than mended into usefulness, and the Spirit of God is the one who is present when a small true thing gets said to somebody who will not argue.

Choose somebody who will simply say all right. Not the person most likely to argue, and not the one who will be disappointed: this is not the moment to test the relationship, it is the moment to make the decision hold.

And do it now. In October, taking something off is a plan. In December, it is a failure. The same act, six weeks apart, is a completely different thing.

Isaiah 42:3 keeps the nearly out flame without asking it to burn higher, and the Holy Spirit is the one who is present when somebody decides in advance instead of collapsing on the day.

You are able to decide it now and say it out loud once, and it has never once needed defending to be a real decision. Isaiah 42:3 will not quench the smoking flax, and the Spirit of God is the one who is with somebody making a smaller day on purpose.