My great-grandfather fought in the Civil War. And such was the carnage that he never spoke of it right up to his dying day. Therefore, we might consider that it was the sacrifices that he witnessed, and the pain of comrades lost that he carried to his own grave that are but a tiny part of the inestimable price paid for the liberties that we abuse.

I pretend to give gifts that people pretend to be gifts so that I can pretend that I gave something that actually cost me something. And what pretending or this sort gives me is the gift of a pretend life.

It was His love for us that cost Him everything. And that is the essence of Christmas that should be the substance of our lives.

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.

Because we weren’t there when the price was paid doesn’t mean that the price wasn’t paid. And if we don’t believe that, maybe we need to consider the solider who never came home so that we could.

Although I’m seldom aware enough to see it, the greater cost regarding that which I possess was not what I paid for it, but what someone along the way sacrificed so that I might have the opportunity to pay for it.

Far too often, the rewards for our efforts seem to be mere pennies as held against the fortune of time and sacrifice spent attempting to earn them.