11:47pm, New Year’s Eve.
A first for me: sitting in my quiet bedroom with just a baby while somewhere south of here, a ball — the ball — is preparing to fall.
Of course, I could be there with all the action, but I didn’t have bell-bottoms or aviator glasses for Jameson. Some other year, I guess!
But regardless of whether or not I’m chanting the countdown in a crowded living room, along with CBS and all of Times Square, a new year is inevitably going to begin. I’m always amazed by that defining moment. 12:01, and another year becomes history, no more present than 1776, 1492, or 400BC. Huh.
As strange as it is, and as melancholy as the passing of time can be, on New Year’s Eve, I’m thankful to live within the boundaries of time. Time helps me measure the faithfulness of God. Time means there is a past, full of testimonies, and a future, full of hope. Time requires me to redeem the time and number my days, which means moment after moment is an opportunity to know God. And time causes me to value the imperishable more and more.
It’s 12:08 now. There are other thoughts, but I’ll share them in the morning.
Happy New Year.