But while those memories have meaning, many more of the time passages that filled my year still lay at my feet, heavy and blank. They are banal, misused, and misspent. Putting them together I can build endless days of nothingness.
Shamed by the wasted minutes, I long to pick them up, tuck them back in an hour glass and flip time. Then I could relive them, spend them, but the year is drawing to a close; I'll never hold them again. I scoot some away with my foot hoping noone will notice.
The last granule of time slides slowly through my fingers. A strong breeze circles my legs and sweeps the remaining moments of the year past away. I study the year ahead, it is bright with promise, with dreams. I am excited to face the unknown that spans the distance before me. Yet, I am fraught with fear.
Is this really a step or a precipice?
I study my empty hands and draw them, clenched, to my chest, afraid to gather another year. What if I squander it?
I could try harder. I could do better.
I resolve to make no resolutions. No resolutions, no failure. And yet a part of me, something deep in my spirit, wants to take that first step toward tomorrow and fly. I want to take that first step and achieve. I want to take that first step and dream.
My inner longing skips forward. My feet inch toward eternity like a slug. I close my eyes and hold out my hand. Ready to grasp the new year. Praying I won't fill overwhelmed when it fills my hand.
Oh God, please give me the wisdom to spend this new year wisely. Please don't let me squander it.
When I open my eyes, and lower my hands, I find they are filled with the seconds, minutes and hours of but one day. I blink and look again. Can that be right? One day? I turn my eyes heavenward as a new thought pushes into my head.
Had I failed so miserably the prior year that God could no longer trust me with more than a day?
I want to weep. Tears fill my eyes, and begin to track along my cheeks.
The winds of heaven caress my face and assure me that God wasn't holding time back because of my failures. I am reminded that God's mercies are new every morning.
I can dream for a lifetime of tomorrows, but a lifetime is made in the moments that build a day. A month is built by the accomplishment of days and a year is forged by months. I have only to face the new day to begin my journey, and merely the minute at hand, God the architect of my life, the one who knows the beginning and end of my story, will walk with me and guide me. I have only to hold out my hand and believe.
Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Matthew 6:33-34