Tuesday, January 02, 2007


I am the New Year. I am unused, unspotted, without blemish. I stretch before you three hundred and sixty-five days long. I will present each day in its turn, a new leaf in the Book of Life, for you to place upon it your imprint.

It remains for you to make of me what you will; if you write with firm steady strokes, my pages will be a joy to look upon when the New Year comes. If the pen falters, if uncertainty or doubt should mar the page, it will become a day to remember with pain.

I am the New Year. Each hour of the three hundred and sixty-five days, I will give you sixty minutes that have never known the use of man. White and pure, I present them; it remains for you to fill them with sixty jeweled seconds of love, hope, endeavor, patience, and trust in God.

I am the New Year. I am here—but once past, I can be recalled. Make me your best.

--Author unknown

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