A New Year

The awaking sun rose over the eastern side of the lake.  Jack sat on his dock, watching the orange light dance across the water.  There wasn’t another creature around except a single duck flying low across the water.  It was a new day. And unbeknownst to the duck, it was a new year.

Jack held his favorite pen, a Montblanc, which was given to him by his grandfather at graduation.  Some men wore Rolexes to show their status: For Jack, his pen said it all. That pen had sired 15 best-selling novels.  If time mattered to Jack, he’d wear a Rolex.  Creating was what mattered to him. That’s why he owned an expensive pen and a cheap watch.

Fourteen of his bestselling novels had been written on the porch of his house overlooking this Mississippi lake.  The house was a gift from his first book.  The book had also allowed him to pay off debts and set up college funds for his kids. It was his favorite of all his novels and for good reason.

Jack placed the nib of the pen on the paper of his journal and felt that familiar, sacred scratching as he wrote.  His faith had been tested throughout the years, but he still believed in a higher power.  And to him, there was nothing more sacred than using his talent.  How many people had he known throughout the years who had squandered their gifts? Too many in his opinion — and in someways, Jack equated that sin to murder.

A flock of geese interrupted the calm as they honked their way South.  The Canadian Goose population had swelled in the 1990’s, causing their to be an undeclared way on them around there.  Goose poop on your shoes was a badge of honor at the local bar.  The bar where Jack met several of his books’ characters for the first time.  The bar where he had rung in the New Year.

Jack sipped his coffee, which was still steaming hot on the cold January morning.  Steam off his cup looked like the mist on top of the water.  Both rose a few feet off the surface and disappeared.  Their lives were as almost as fleeting as a human’s.  Except that a human seemed to think they were immortal.  At least when they were young.

Jack wasn’t young anymore.  Bones and tendons liked to rudely remind him of that every morning. But he jumped out of bed like each morning was the blessing it was.  He scratched a few more words down on paper. He liked writing on his dock at sunrise.  The view alone made him feel closer to God.  It reminded him that today was all he was given. And he was determined to make the most of it. To live in the moment. Carpe Diem.  Sitting here every morning was his moment of prayer.

He wrote his last few words and reread them.  A slight smile came over his face.

Monday’s Prayer: To have the strength, courage and dedication to make 2012 the best year yet.

Jack closed his journal, put his pen in his pocket and finished his coffee. The geese and the duck had given him a great idea for a new novel.  As the sun crested the trees on the distant shore, Jack knew it was time to get back up to porch and start using the talent he had been given. To say thank you for the gift of a New Year.