The afternoon sun sheds soft light on a cold landscape of inky trees and shorn shrubbery. Stark though it be, this last day of 2025 is a beautiful one. I find myself struck by a sacred quiet in readiness for what is to come. Anticipation is bold, held in hope for the potential of days yet to be lived. Promise is literally in the very air I breathe.
I don’t feel inspired to list self-improvement plans for this impending year. That is far too predictable and mundane. Nevertheless, there is something freeing in reflecting on what might be! Emily Dickinson is accredited with these words: I dwell in possibility. Instead of trying to redress mistakes made in 2025 through feeble attempts at an inner makeover of some kind, I prefer to muse on what I might become. Am I guilty of presumption here? How many people in their 70s dare to conversation I had with an older couple 20 years ago. My exchange student and I were visiting during the Christmas holidays. Afte a few days of revisiting old haunts and catching up on our lives, we were content to engage in good food and conversation. We were all sitting in their elegantly furnished living room. The husband commented with resignation in his tone that he was done with dreams; he had done what he had done and at his age there was no point in making new plans for what remained of his future. I am now at least ten years older than he was then.
I am reminded of an anonymous quote, one I have reflected on before. We often feel tired, not because we’ve done too much, but because we have done too little of what sparks a light in us. I think about this observation a lot because I believe in its accuracy. The light seems to go out in most people, some earlier in life than others. Perhaps the light was never sparked in the first place. Maybe it was a mere flicker that never burst into full flame. There are a few people who have broken the mold of such ennui. Some write books during their final decades or enter a new profession later in life. These are more the exception than the rule, however.
I am gripped by another true story, one often described as the greatest one ever told. It is the story of Jesus’ entry into human history. He was born into a poor family known for its skills in carpentry. They lived in Nazareth, a small, non-descript town in the first century countryside of Galilee. We know little about Jesus’ boyhood. The final years of Jesus’ life fills the Gospels in the New Testament: calling of the disciples, healing and other miracles, and the Rabbi’s teaching. One stunning aspect of the latter is Jesus’ impact during his final three years on earth. Not only was the Lord’s reputation spreading, but the level of discipleship among His chosen few was powerful. The teaching was so profound, the world of the Middle East in the first century was altered dramatically. The final three years of Jesus’ earthly life were charged with change. The disciples carried on the Great Commission (Matthew 28:18-20), because of their close relationship with the master teacher. Those three years transformed the course of human history.
What possibilities exist in a short period of time. I feel stirred as I reflect on the life of Christ. It is not too late to make a difference, to do what “sparks a light in us”.
