But if serving the Lord seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served beyond the Euphrates, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you are living. But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.” – Joshua 24:15

Sometimes I get surprised, blindsided. It happened the other evening when Rebekah and I were watching a movie, then again when I was doing some research for my new book.

The movie was “The Last Rifleman” (2023) starring Pierce Brosnan as a 92-year old D-Day veteran who goes AWOL from his nursing home to attend 75th anniversary observances in Normandy.

Two things made me cry, one at the beginning and one at the end. At the start of the movie Brosnan’s character loses his wife – she was also over 90 – and suddenly all I can see, and feel, is my parents; Dad died at 94 and then Mum at 92. What the movie scene triggered for me was the emptiness my mother experienced when dad was gone, and also the sense of loss my dad must have felt as his life just leaked away over that last year or so.

The second was the conclusion of the story. I won’t spoil it for you because I am 100% recommending you watch this movie. Odds are you will love it – and cry like a baby too.

A couple of photographs:

Now, the photographs that caught me off guard too. I was doing some research, looking for a few details from 2017 and then 2022, when I ran across A) this portrait taken on our back deck in Wake Forest, then B) the last photo of my parents together, a couple of weeks before dad died.

One of the side-effects from writing my memoir is this heightened sense of history, especially as the parts that move the story along are necessarily more loaded with emotion. Everything is closer to the surface: the good, the bad, the joys, the sorrows, the affirmations, the regrets, the celebrations, the heartbreaks, the triumphs, the failures – all the elements that have made almost seven decades real and challenging and wonderful and memorable and worth both living and remembering.

The Mother’s Day photo hits with deep poignancy because – in that moment – the next eight years are still unwritten, and I cannot help but wonder how much of what has happened since was inevitable… or how much could have played out differently? The good, the bad; the joys, the sorrows; the affirmations, the regrets; the celebrations, the heartbreaks; the triumphs, the failures.

Every day a new opportunity!

Here is what I believe. Every single morning we all have this beautiful opportunity to live, and then we make important choices literally from moment to moment. Essentially, each new day anything is possible. So the real question is, do we accept this gift as grateful children of God? Do we love generously and openly? Do we live in the light or do we take a step – or more – toward the darkness?

When we look back at a photograph of today (Thursday August 21, 2025), maybe in another eight years, maybe only one – maybe next week? – will we be able to say with confidence that we have honored the beautiful gift that is this life?

As Joshua said to his friends: “But if serving the Lord seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves… But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”

Every new day – DEREK