Sometimes, it is good to just stop, think, and have some gratitude. Snow comes in flakes, not barrels. Rain falls in drops, not buckets. Leaves fall one by one, not all at once. Man thinks he is in charge, and calls every shot, but he does not. We control less than we think, and in this season, that is worth a nod and a wink.
Why do we fall victim to this lofty idea, this deception, that we are in charge? Why do we think we can redefine physics and biology, rewrite history, chronology, replace God with mythology, claim to ourselves the power to hang the stars, make night and day, define our hour, and have our way?
Because are human, that is why. Our history is filled with vision and blindness, the miracle, marvel, and madness of being human, one day all heart and soul, depth and beauty, able to do so much, help each other, the next awash in envy and enmity, smallness, jealousies, modeling the jerk at home and work.
On any given day, in any given year, God can reduce us to carbon and water, remind us we are nothing without Him, humility, and gratitude, the real stuff of which goodness is composed.
He can take us from the mountain top or forest glade to the valley bottom, sun to shade, or reverse it all, and come to our aid.
We worry, waste, and bumble, forget our purpose, and often stumble. Here we are again, closing out another year, feuding among ourselves about useless, trivial things, wasting the gift of life and time, this season of rebirth, of peace on earth.
Maybe it is just the season, joy and Christmas, a chance to think about what we can do, who to help in what way, that seems to grow in proportion to the shortness of the day.
I am reminded, as this year wraps up and another begins, of poet John Greenleaf Whittier, born more than 200 years ago, and how he reckoned with life’s opportunities, prompting actions with well-placed words.
One of his most resonant poems, “Maud Muller,” reminds us to keep our eyes open for the possible, and focus on the action between dawns and sunsets, so we have no regrets.
In that poem, a farm girl meets a city judge, both imagining a future, yet neither speaks or acts, which is to say – in a broader way – their chance came and waned.
His last verse is telling, and you may recall it. Beyond the context, it symbolizes the idea that we are given limited time to do what we can, make a difference, lift the lantern a bit higher, strain to see a bit further, and leave some lasting mark.
Whittier wrote: “For all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, ‘it might have been.’” Whittier also had brighter moments, heroes like poet Robert Burns.
And what did Burns write for the season, reminding us to celebrate faith and friendship? Well, he was a Scot, born in 1759, loved America before we were a nation, and sympathized greatly with our Revolution.
He also wrote a lyrical piece we remember this time of year, one that reminds us to appreciate our blessings, God’s role at year’s end, and to remember friends. He wrote “Auld Lang Syne,” or “Old Long Since,” a tip of hat and glass to “good old times.”
That song is filled with irony, the need for action and reflection, looking back and ahead, and the humility of realizing we are in charge of little, yet can affect many.
Neither Whittier nor Burns could have imagined affecting so many, so much action and reflection. Sometimes, it is good to just stop and think, and have some gratitude. After all, snow falls in flakes, not barrels, rain in drops, not buckets, leaves in ones, not tons. In this season, we are luckier than we think, worth a nod and a wink.
Robert Charles is a former Assistant Secretary of State under Colin Powell, former Reagan and Bush 41 White House staffer, attorney, and naval intelligence officer (USNR). He wrote “Narcotics and Terrorism” (2003), “Eagles and Evergreens” (2018), and is National Spokesman for AMAC.
