public eye, nursing the wounds of political and personal failure. Instead, he leaned into a different legacy—one marked not by power but by service. Over the next several decades, he wrote over 30 books, founded The Carter Center, and worked tirelessly as a mediator and humanitarian. He volunteered with Habitat for Humanity, taught
Sunday
School, and
spent quiet
evenings
surrounded
by his family.
In many ways,
Carter’s post-
presidency
was the
ultimate
rebuttal to
the idea of
him as an
ineffective
leader. His
steadfastness, humility, and quiet determination became his hallmarks, proving that strength doesn’t always roar.
Contrast this with the toxic masculinity that saturates so much of today’s political and cultural landscape. We live in an age of chest-pounding social media influencers and reactive, celebrity-style politics, where leaders are often measured by how loudly they dominate the room rather than the depth of their character.
Interviews with those who knew him—relatives, journalists, and politicians alike—paint a picture of a gentle, wise, imperfect man. Carter reflected on his personal and political failings and how his faith sustained him, even if it was regularly tested.
“God answers all prayers,” Carter was known to say. “But sometimes He says no.”
In an era of super-ego-fueled
celebrity politicians, listening to retrospectives on Mr. Carter—who insisted on being called Jimmy for most of his life—is a time capsule of an era of humility, humor, and honesty.
It’s the dawn of a new year, traditionally a time for renewal and goal setting. Reaching for big dreams is tempting, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But the older I get, the more I reflect on private goals and quiet ways of "living the dream." I realize that a life out of the public eye can be as whole and rewarding as any life on display.
Today, the bar for measuring what it takes to be a good person seems low. Yesterday’s "good guys" seem straight out of the black-and-white era: Atticus Finch, George Bailey, Sheriff Andy Taylor. Men who fought for what was right, eschewed wealth and fame, and kept counsel with a small circle of trusted friends and
family.
Count James Earl Carter Jr.—Jimmy—among those heroes.
Looking back at Carter’s century of life, I’m reminded to keep my expectations in check—perhaps not every prayer will be answered with a "yes," but sometimes the "no" clears the path for something better.
And perhaps the best way to honor a life like Carter’s is not through grand declarations but in daily acts of faith and service. As I consider the new year ahead, I’m reminded that goodness often grows in the quiet corners of our lives, where humility and purpose meet.
It’s there, in those quiet corners, that a legacy like Carter’s offers a map for the year ahead: not one marked by bold resolutions but by the steady pursuit of what matters most.