He stepped out into the dark alley and into the cold, damp air of the night.

The metal door gave out a loud clang as it shut behind him.

His face felt the cold breeze of the winds from the north.

He contemplated the recent events.

How could it be?

Why did it happen now?

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

It was too soon.

"It's always too soon," he supposed to himself,

Cancer.

It showed up in her body long before anyone noticed.

It grew among the healthy cells until it started squeezing out the frontal lobe.

She started forgetting where she was.

The cat scan indicated a Glioblastoma Multiforme - the most aggressive type of cancer that begins within the brain. It caused her headaches, followed by personality change, nausea.

She was a brilliant person.

She made him laugh.

She astonished him with her courage in the face of significant, life-altering situations.

Her father had died unexpectedly.

She was furloughed and eventually let go from her job mid-way through the pandemic in 2020.

She had a miscarriage.

And yet through all that, she remained authentic, genuine, and a pillar of hope.

Now gone. Forever.

As the wind picked up, it brought to his attention the tears that had been flowing without him even noticing.

He folded his arms in an attempt to bring himself warmth.

The back door to the funeral home opened, jolting him out of his silent revelry.

"They would like to have you come back in," said his son.

"I'll be right there," he replied.

Strange how the loss of someone so close to us can make us take stock of our lives.

We are reminded of the brevity of life and it confuses our mind.

Protagoras once said, "Many things prevent knowledge, including the obscurity of the subject and the brevity of human life."

In moments such as these, we find ourselves at a crossroads.

We either take it as it comes to us and let it eventually define who we are by default.

Or we take it and leverage it by design for who we can become - the fullest expression of our unique, God-given design.

As I write this, the last couple days are relinquishing their grip on 2021 to make way for 2022.

Even though it's just another overnight segment of time from the 31st to the 1st, it's a significant time to take stock of your life.

This time of year (and any time of year, for that matter) you are at a crossroads.

You can either take it as it comes to you and let it eventually define who you are by default.

Or you can take it and leverage it by design for who you have yet to become - the fullest expression of your unique, God-given design.

Grab a piece of graph paper and imagine that every box represents a week in the life of a 90-year-old.

Now color in the boxes that represent the weeks you have already lived.

Notice how many boxes are left.

I did this and discovered that, if I live to age 90, I have already filled in over 62% of the 4,680 boxes.

More boxes behind me than lay before me.

That realization puts me at a crossroads.

I can either take life as it comes and let it define who I am by default.

Or I can leverage my current position by design for who I have yet to become - the fullest expression of my unique, God-given design.

How about you?

Will you join me in this new year as I take leave of my colored-in boxes and embrace the empty boxes to make something great?

Will you dare to be courageous enough to become the fullest expression of your unique design?

I hope so.

Speaking of hope, this is where hope resides.

Now, let's go join our friend back in the funeral home.

I hear the potato salad is really tasty.