Sometimes in the thick quiet of those soft summer nights, I listen. For it is in the quiet that the voices of things deep and marvelous and adventurous whisper simply because a world of noise grants them no space. Therefore, if we have no quiet, we will hear plenty of noise, but we will not hear a single voice.

Sometimes I just like to sit and ponder just sitting. For in the rarely visited expanse that this creates, I realize how much junk I’ve thought to be treasure and how much treasure I have junked.

I am always trying to figure God out so that I can figure Him in. But after a while I figure that I should just let God be God, and figure that He’ll figure it all out anyway.

To be broken means that the best of my resources lay shattered and strewn about. And it is then and only then that I am at my peak, for it is at these times that there is less of me to get in the way of all of God.

Vulnerability creates unimaginable space to build each other up, as much as it creates ample room to tear each other down.

It’s in the solace that I better understand the rat-race. For in the solace I have both the gifts of space and time to understand the rat-race, when I am otherwise consumed by the singular act of surviving it.

Space is the stuff that we fill, so sometimes we’d rather not have it because of the things that stand around the space eager to rush in and fill it to its edges.

So what are you doing here, other than taking up space?” she asked rather snidely. He replied, “I’m using up the space that I’m living in to enlarge the space that you’re taking up.” And after a thoughtful pause, she turned and in a somber tone said, “Then I will start doing the same.

Great things come in small things, for only small things have enough space to contain them.