New Year Resolutions

I hate New Years Resolutions. They remind me of the practice of making some sort of sacrifice for Lent. Every Lent since I can remember, I have struggled with what I am going to "give up for Christ." I can't tell you the soul-wrenching involved in deciding if abstaining from Coke products for 40 days and nights is taxing enough to remind me that Christ suffered on the cross for me.

When I was in second grade, Mrs. Kramen had each of us cut a cross out of pink construction paper (I remember it was pink – why pink?). We were then instructed to write down our Lenten sacrifice on one side of the cross, and put our name on the other. She then discreetly collected the crosses and stapled them (name side out, four staples per cross) to the large bulletin board that took up one wall of the classroom. No one could read what each of us had written.

But I knew what I had written. And I knew that God knew what I had written. And that was pressure enough to keep me to my promise to not drink Coke for all of Lent. I remember this vividly. I remember thinking I could see the words I had written glow through the pink construction paper like some kind of flashing neon sign. (I remember thinking once while waiting for the next word in a spelling test that it was funny that God didn't reverse the words for me when He reminded me of my promise with neon letters – I was forced to read them backwards as though they were truly bleeding through the paper.) Wow, was I bored in second grade.

Unfortunately for me, my sister Rach also knew what I had written. She revealed this during one of our rare family trips to McDonald's. We were actually going to eat inside the restaurant, so we were allowed to order a small drink. I remembered my Lenten promise and order a small orange drink. Do you remember the McDonald's HiC orange drink? I felt comfortable with my choice – even though I really really wanted a Coke. Rach announced my Lenten sacrifice to the whole family and presented the argument that orange drink was in fact the same as soda (the word we St. Louisans use for pop), and therefore I should not be allowed to order it. It was bad enough when I had my own guilt and the occasional classroom reminder from God compelling me to stick to my promise, now I had my sister rallying troops against me like some kind of six-year-old Norma Rae.

In this same vein, I loathe making New Year resolutions. I hate feeling like I'm being told what to do – even if it is me doing the telling. Rather than thinking of resolutions as being a promise to change my life for the better, or to improve myself, or to make the bed every morning, I can't help thinking of them as a chore, a burden, an added obligation with no end-date in sight.

As an adult, I have decided to boycott Lenten sacrifices and New Year resolutions – which are made only to be broken just as quickly as the special offers at athletic clubs expire and calendars are offered at half-price.

And yet, I find myself making resolutions that are secret pacts with myself. If I tell someone what my resolutions are, I have to keep them. Secret ones are better – no one will get hurt. These resolutions are especially powerful. They are often promises that I tell myself I shouldn't make. They are too challenging, too lofty, too ridiculous. They are like those little deals with God that we all make from time to time in order to avoid those little compromises with the Devil.

I find that these pacts last longer for me than traditional, public resolutions – so long as I remind myself that they are not resolutions per se – because I am boycotting resolutions.

I can usually keep these "not resolutions" about until Lent begins in the early spring.

Therefore, I have decided upon several resolutions to not have this year.

Lent begins February 25.