Inspiration sometimes finds us in unexpected places.
This time, it found me watching Ted Lasso.
A small spoiler warning if you haven’t watched the season-four finale, “Being Alive.”
One of the characters, Mae, has died. As the episode winds down, we hear her voice reciting Mary Oliver’s poem “When Death Comes.”
It’s beautiful. Thought-provoking. And, in places, unsettling.
Oliver considers the approach of death while expressing a deep desire to have fully participated in life. There is curiosity, tenderness, and an awareness of how precious our time here is.
But one image in particular stayed with me: her description of death as a “cottage of darkness.”
I could appreciate the poetry while finding myself imagining something different.
Because of Jesus, I believe the end of my earthly life will be a homecoming.
There will be things I don’t understand between here and there. And believing in eternal life doesn’t make me eager to leave the people I love.
I still want more mornings.
More discoveries.
More time with my wife, our family, our friends.
More opportunities to explore the beauty God has scattered so generously around us, throughout the world.
But when my time here is finished, I believe Someone will be waiting.
The One who called Himself the Light of the world. (John 8:12)
That thought led to another.
When I reach the end of this journey, what will my life have meant to the people whose paths crossed mine?
What will I have given them to carry?
A little encouragement?
A memory that still makes them laugh?
Some reassurance that they were loved?
And, somewhere in those encounters, will they have caught a glimpse of Him?
Those questions became this poem.
Reflection of Light
Life flows forward,
one moment after another.
There’s no going back,
only memories—
instants of light
we learn to carry.
Somewhere along this river
is a bend I will not see beyond,
a place where I will leave
the current.
A Light somewhere ahead
beckons me to a place
I do not know.
But I will not slip quietly
from this stream.
There are still mornings
I want to grab hold of,
face turned toward
the orange glow
of a rising sun.
More beauty yet
to be discovered—
a path disappearing into
emerald woods,
a mountain trail
with a waterfall whispering my name
from beyond my sight,
a few more paddle strokes
to find a hidden cove.
A candlelit dinner
with unfamiliar flavors
and names I can’t pronounce.
More people and dogs
to embrace,
arms wrapped tight
around those
I never want to lose.
But I will,
or they will lose me.
I know this.
Still, my arms reach.
When it’s my turn
to leave the stream,
I hope I run toward the Light,
arms wide
for my last embrace.
I hope I leave
with the day still on my hands—
soil from tending
what is still becoming—
the echoes of a whispered
“I love you” still in my ears,
the warmth of my love’s kiss
still on my lips.
I hope someone remembers
a kindness,
a bit of encouragement
I slipped into their pocket
for the moment
they would need it.
I hope someone finds
a use for something
I taught or showed them.
Or starts to repeat
something I said
that made them laugh,
then has to stop
to wipe their eyes.
I hope someone recalls
a time I reflected
their light back to them,
until they could see
what I had seen
all along.
When that day comes,
broken and cracked
as I am,
more than anything
I pray someone will say
that in some small way
I reflected into their life
the Light
that has called me home.
David K. Carpenter
October 2026
Copyright (c) 2026 by David K. Carpenter
There’s a prayer running through this poem that also runs through this blog.
I hope something of Christ’s light reaches other people through what I share.
That’s why I keep writing here: to encourage fellow followers of Jesus as we learn to trust Him, know Him more closely, and recognize His presence in our everyday lives.
I’m still learning those things myself.
Sometimes I write about something I’ve begun to understand. Sometimes I write about something I keep forgetting and need to hear again.
My hope is that, somewhere in those words, or in these blog posts, you find encouragement for your own next step.
Jesus tells us to let our light shine so that the good others see leads them to glorify our Father. (Matthew 5:16)
That can happen through a blog post.
It can also happen through a patient conversation, an apology, a meal delivered, or the decision to stay beside someone when we have no idea what to say.
We may never know how much those moments mean to another person.
But we can offer them.
And while I hope to have more years to do that, I don’t want to overlook the opportunities in the day I already have.
There are people to love today.
Beauty to notice.
Someone who could use a little encouragement.
I want to be here for those things, with my heart open and my hands still willing.
And when the Light finally calls me home, I hope I’ve helped someone see Him a little more clearly.
