Some days, for a writer, a blank page is a wonderful thing. A clean slate, ready to be filled with winsome words, a sweet tale to tell, or an idea that's just too good not to share.

Other days, that blank page is a mockery, a world where there is nothing but linen twisting nights of restless sleep, for want of something meaningful to share.

Today, on the first day of a brand new year, I am faced with 365 blank pages, waiting to be filled. Waiting to be filled with words of wonder or with words of want. Waiting for words of contentment or words of chaos.

Although I know that to the Lord a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years like a day, here in this reality, we measure time. And we take special note of endings and beginnings, because our lives are filled with them. New jobs, new homes, new babies and new tombstones, all serve to mark the passage of time in our lives. And we do well to remember and to mark them.

So, I look at these blank pages, waiting to be filled, and the first thing I notice is that the calendar maker was a wise and crafty sort. When I selected the 2008 calendar to mark "Cribbs 2008" I failed to notice his wiliness. But as soon as I sat down to make note of the many birthdays we'll celebrate this year, I realized that the calendar maker neglected to put the day of the week on each numbered day of the year. I guess I should be glad he bothered to divide the days into months and the months into numerical days. Could you imagine how hard it would be to live in a world where it was simply Day 286, 2008? The calendar maker designed this calendar to be relevant to more than one year by leaving the days of the week off as he (helpfully) provides six years of days at the head of each page, so this calendar was probably designed, printed and packaged back in 2005. Pretty clever. Pretty crafty.

OK, it's not the perfect calendar. It still has 365, oops, make that 366 days, waiting to be filled. (2008 is a leap year.)

It's up to me. Will they be days that end with a sigh of contentment, knowing I did all that I could today to live a life worthy of my Lord? Or will they be days that end slowly, with much tossing and turning, knowing I did little or nothing that proved his worth?

Will they be days when I know and rest in the contentment that is his gift or days that end with my hands wrung out with anxiety, dread and doubt?

Will they be days when I know that I have, to the best of my ability, lived at peace with all men as far as it depended on me? Or a day when I thrived on controversy and chaos, fueling the fires of gossip and idle chatter?

Will they be days when I willingly, gladly and with great joy, go forth with a cup of cold water, a crust of bread, a cloak against the cold wind or a word of encouragement and hope or will they be days when I withhold any of these from another, too tired, too anxious, just too plain selfish to care? I would do well to remember that it is true that when I do the least of these things to the least of my brothers, I do it unto the Lord. And when I withhold any thing from the least of these my brothers, I withhold it from the One who gave all that I may have life, and that more abundant.

Calendar pages help us to keep track of where we are in the week, in the month and in the whole of a year. Blank pages, waiting to be filled. How mine are filled is entirely up to me, which makes me doubly glad to know this promise.

"Yet I call this to mind, and therefore I have hope; Because of the Lord's faithful love we do not perish, for his mercies never end. They are new every morning; Great is your faithfulness!." Lamentations 21-23 (HCSB)

Things you won't see in heaven:

Hopelessness