The last little remnants of 2006 are only just, here and there, taking hold in the day-planners of our fragmented lives, where bits of our over-laden humanity fly about crosswise and lengthwise, trying to meet each other at the corners in order to make the crossword of our existence legible somewhere.

Wholly defenceless, the human being stands before the jaws of time, of whose mauling each of us is a victim simply by being born. And the only way to slip free of its gnawing is to make time subordinate and servant-like — you the master, and time your servant. You manage this by enjoying what you do, by loving who you are, and by knowing that the road you have taken is leading you to the right destiny.

A day without a new realisation about life is a day lost. That is why spiritual investments draw interest that works against inflation, against it and across it, and sticks out its tongue at it. For the growth rate there where neither moth nor rust can reach is determined by the purity of our motives. God loves a cheerful giver, and a cheerful sower's risk is low and his profits high. The secret of a full life, in which you do not only grow old but grow ripe and mellow, lies in making the right investments. Invest in people. In each other. In relationships. In those who are tired and helpless and defenceless and poor in possessions and poor in spirit. There are many who are poor in possessions, but more who are poor in spirit. People's hearts lie shallow, and their giving is without sacrifice. Feelings are shallow and changeable because their love is weak. It is no longer a burning, consuming fire that kindles. It is no longer warm enough to kindle. It is in the heat of the moment that the atom is split. That life is made.

Alas, the flame that stokes the heat has been extinguished and replaced with a battery that at its best makes the glow of "lust" look like yearning, even though it has been stripped of all passion and substance. People do not stay married. Friends are not sincere. Children grow rude, and Christians are not what they say they are.

What is left? A flat battery.

People are too tired to go and find the flame. Too burnt out. Too cold. Their breath too commercial.

We have two destinys. One at the end of each day and one on the day of our expiry. A wholehearted person's day, and that person's end, finishes where it began — at the flame of God's love, which now kindles but one day will consume without charring.

Groete Amanda Kreitzer