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.

How often have I lifted my foot to take a peek at what I’m standing on, only to discover that there’s nothing there and that I’ve been confusing ‘falling’ with ‘standing.

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.

To fall down is to face the weakness of my humanity, test the mettle of my character, and push the limits of my strength. Therefore, falling down will tell me who I am far more clearly than most things I might learn when I’m standing up.

We will understand the depth of our vision when at some point we are finally faced with the price we must pay to achieve it. And when the price comes calling, most visions end up falling.

To fall is not to fail. To fail is to never fall because I never got up in the first place.

I watched a squirrel fall from a rather high branch. Upon hitting the ground, he bounced slightly, paused, shook himself vigorously and then immediately scampered back up to the very same place on the very same branch from which he’d fallen. There are some that might call that stupidity. Then there are others like myself who would call that tenacity. And while I generally have no interest in being a squirrel, in this particular respect I wouldn’t mind being like one.