Love is the thing that keeps everything else exactly where it needs to be. And so, if I’m out of whack, I’m probably out of love.

Pain dutifully reminds me that the world is terribly imperfect, but it faithfully helps me appreciate the world on those days when it’s a little closer to being perfect.

It was when the sun gently slipped off the backside of the horizon and slowly drew the light of the day in it’s train that everything went quiet. And before the assorted choruses of crickets and spring peepers rose to greet the night, nature nodded at a day well done. And regardless of whether my day had come with rain or sunshine, I find few things as healing as lifting my soul above my circumstances and bringing the day to a close by nodding at a day well done.

Most of the things we deem as impossible are only impossible because we’ve given them permission to be impossible.

It’s not what the day holds. Rather, it’s how we hold the day.

Fear is what we’ve made something to be rather than understanding Who God is.

It is my hope that despite the gravity of the trials, we will never forget that the privilege to live life always offsets the difficulties involved in the living of it. This is the essence of thanksgiving.

Maybe the impossible was not based on how life actually worked, but on how we constricted life through our bluntly stunted vision and all the other abhorrent things that we did to keep it safe.

We gather up a few thin blades of meadow grass and call them the meadow, when the meadow itself rolls off to horizons that escape our view.