I’d much rather have all of this be the ‘pigment’ of my imagination rather than a ‘figment,’ for at least it would all have some color.

The anticipation of loss is much more frightening than the actual loss as anticipation leaves room for the imagination to create that which, in all likelihood, will never transpire.

On that morning, the first rays of a rising sun skipped across the tips of the forested canopy as if to tickle them awake in the anticipation of a day rising. And I will tell you, sitting with God each morning has never ceased to tickle me awake in the exact same way.

Maybe sometimes we should just sit, and in the sitting understand that life speaks in stillness and therefore on occasion we would be wise to join it there.

Today I felt the first brush of autumn as in these waning days of summer it gently leaned over an expectant horizon. And it is in having lived summer to the fullest that autumn is positioned to fill me to the fullest. And I think that if we would engage all of the differing seasons of our lives in a manner such as this, the appreciation of ‘what was’ would be magnified a hundredfold by the anticipation of ‘what is yet to be.

With God, a mountain is only a road waiting to happen.

Pain is nothing but growth waiting for us to give it permission to grow us up.

This morning, the birds were singing before the sun came up. And in thinking about that, it amazed me that they would readily sing into the darkness without demanding that the light show itself first.

Our fear of fear is often our greatest fear.