My Year Just Vaporized

I didn’t accomplish what I set out to do last year. But did I do what I was supposed to?

Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”— yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. (James 4:13-14)

New Year’s Resolutions—How’d We Do?

My year just vaporized and a new one has just begun.

I’m usually not one who makes New Year’s resolutions—because I know I likely won’t keep them—but when 2024 began, I resolved to change some of my habits and “do more.”

Wake up earlier than usual to write more content. Edit more videos to post on YouTube. Design more graphic tees to sell. I wanted to hustle more for the sake of my family.

And for about six weeks, I was doing all right. But then, life happened.

Sicknesses knocked me out. Work got busy, demanding late hours and less sleep. Assorted, unexpected, random issues arose that needed to be dealt with, disrupting my planned day-to-day schedule.

And now, here we are, at the start of a brand-new year. I didn’t accomplish any of the things I had planned to do in 2024.

Then, the words of James splashed me in the face: “Come now, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit’—What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.”

A mist. A vapor. Something that evaporates. In the original Greek text, the word translated as “mist” is atmis, which can describe steam rising from a pot or the smoky vapor from a volcanic eruption.

That last image resonates with me: a volcanic eruption arrives on the scene with a deafening, earth-shattering blast, but gradually fades out, and the rushing plume of smoky vapor dissipates into the air around it until it is no longer seen.

Kind of like my resolutions.

God’s word reminds us that our lives are like this atmis—a mist, ephemeral and finite.

Facing Our Finite Nature

This past year, more than ever, I was forced to confront my own finite nature.

Though I once had boundless energy—10 years ago, I could work on a grad school paper all night, sleep at 2 AM, get up at 6 AM, then spend a full day working on tsunami recovery in Japan—it is all catching up with me now. Fatigue incessantly gnaws at my bones, and I want to melt into a sofa whenever I have the chance.

That’s when I start “shoulding” myself. I should have taken school more seriously when I was younger. I should have taken a different career path. I should have planned for retirement earlier or invested in this or that company even though I loathe what they stand for but hey I need the money.

I feel guilty for not doing more with the life I have been given. But then, I go back to the words from James 4. Verse 15 says that instead of boasting in our plans to make money today or tomorrow, “you ought to say, ‘If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.’”

This draws me to Matthew 6, when Jesus said that people without faith worry about what they will eat, drink, or wear, then charged his followers,  “But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”

God’s word seems clear: we may never even see tomorrow, for our lives are but a mist, so why worry about the future?

This isn’t to say that we should live recklessly and foolishly. Scripture also tells us to be wise like the ant, who prepares food in the summer and gathers it later (Prov 6:6–8), or to save precious treasure and oil rather than devour it all (Prov 21:20).

However, James reminds us that every day we have is at the mercy of God, and Jesus exhorts us to seek God rather than stress about tomorrow, “for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”

This past year has taught me to take it day by day, giving thanks to God and being present in the moment.

Being Present in the Moment

The photo above was taken on January 1, 2024. My family had gone to the beach for a new year’s stroll and right around sunset, we just stood there and watched the sun leisurely immersing itself into the water. Because I was present and ready, I could capture the moment on camera.

That’s when I sensed the still, small voice of God speaking to me: “Just be present in every moment. Fully present, with eyes wide open and ears ready to hear.”

And so I did. At least, I tried my best to be fully present.

I tried to be present for my family, cherishing every moment I got to spend with my wife and children, thanking God for blessing me with them.

I tried to be present spiritually, seeking God more, stopping throughout the day to lift up a prayer. In 2024, I asked God to speak to me the way He has in the past, wondering why I hadn’t gotten as many impressions or dreams or nudges by the Spirit the way I used to. And it hit me: I just hadn’t been quiet enough to hear any of it.

So I resolved to be more present before God—to stop throughout the day, remembering my dependence on God— and prayed, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” And when I stilled myself enough to hear over the din of life, I started hearing from God again, though Scripture and impressions that the Holy Spirit would place on my heart.

A lot of these impressions involved God randomly putting friends and acquaintances on my mind—and sadly, many of these people soon passed away, within a day or two of me getting the impression. As a result, I resolved to do two things: to remember to pray for others more (yes, I do pray for those who submit prayer requests here), and to be more intentional with my relationships, which tend to get pushed aside amidst the busyness of life.

My resolution for the year had evolved from “accomplish more” to “be more present” in the spirit as well as the mind and body, because our lives are but a mist.

What Kind of Mist Will You Be?

I attended more memorial services in 2024 than I ever had in any previous years. At these celebrations of life, loved ones would come up to share their memories of the departed.

Adult children would share anecdotes or words of wisdom from their departed mom or dad that helped shape them, building their confidence by making them know they’re loved, equipping them to navigate life. Most of them described the parent they lost as having been their best friend and greatest supporter.

Teary-eyed spouses would talk about how much love and sacrifice the departed poured into their families. Sometimes, they’d share a “cute meet” story about the kindness, expressed through words or actions, that first attracted them. Some of the sweetest memories, it seemed, could be as simple as that of a smile.

Friends and colleagues would recall how loyal and selfless the departed was, always there for others in times of need, often helping turn someone’s life around.

But nobody talked about what the departed accomplished in their careers.

Nobody cared how many followers they might have had on social media. They might not have been “influencers” but they positively influenced countless people around them nevertheless.

Nobody talked about anything other than the person’s love—for God and for people.

There are different kinds of mists. Some, like mists of water, are nourishing, life giving, and refreshing to others.

Others are destructive, like the toxic gases blasting from a volcano, laying waste to everything in its radius.

God’s word reminds us that our lives are but a mist, and that tomorrow may never come.

So I ask myself: what kind of mist will you be today?