Life is less about keeping myself from falling and more about who I have around me when I do.

It is autumn on tip-toe that silently walks the hills and treads the forested expanses, gracing in each step a billion leaves in a chorus of colors so brilliantly ingenious that a thousand museums or more could not hold the artistry because a thousand artists or more will never possess the talent to produce what autumn effortlessly creates.

A compass calibrated by my greed is a rather shrewd way to legitimize my agenda. However, true north on a compass such as this is a straight line to the edge of a really big cliff.

We can be seized with panic of the fall, or inspired by the potential that lies within the fall.

The length of the fall is dictated by how far we had climbed. The outcome of the fall is dictated by whether we’re holding on to that which we’re climbing, or we’re letting God hold onto us.

I much prefer not to fall, unless of course I am falling into the hands of God.

I have stumbled my way through most of my life. However. God has kept me from falling all of my life.

When wisdom gives way to whimsy and ethics fall to excitement, it is highly likely that the ground beneath me will ‘give way’ and it is I who will ‘fall.

Without as much as a single question, legions of geese lift themselves to autumn’s skies, obediently heeding the distant call of southern horizons. And I think that it’s less the magnificence of their trek, and more about the humility of their obedience to the trek. For if I was left with a single prayer to utter, it would be to be more like them.