Squares, triangles, circles, and ragged patches of blue are appearing through the gaps in the horizon, and duplicating their symmetry on the still surface of the pond. My door that leads outside is ajar, so I will be able to hear the birds stir from their slumber and begin to call to one another. Even now, trills and tweets are building to a crescendo. Rain or shine they always seem happy and thankful for a new sunrise. On the other end of the pond the gray light is casting enough illumines to reveal the amber hues of the field, and the thick trunks of oaks and pines. To this point I don't see any dark silhouettes of deer, coyotes, or four-footed creatures foraging for food.
Over the last month, I have stood by the bedside of three infants and two young adults that didn't make it to 2014. Not including the death of our friend Robert. Each encounter was a constant reminder that life is precious, fragile, and its duration unpredictable. Such realities can prove to be "God moments." They are sobering, but they can also be turning points that cause us to appreciate every day and to live out our redemption like each may be our last.
As we think about the next 365 days ahead--tabbed 2014, let's live like we believe the words of Jesus: "I have come that you might have life and live it to the fullest." Let us remember that as life happens in small increments--seconds and minutes, in reality they may be large moments. Let us not make big moments small. How else can we avoid them turning into meaningless days and weeks and months? Let us ask ourselves perhaps the most important questions of all: Why did Jesus come--and through his eyes--what does a life fully lived look like?