If I wish to write anything across the pages of your life that I do not wish to ascribe my name to, I probably need to ask what kind of stuff I’ve been writing across the pages of my own life.

Are there so many words in the English language that we must somehow exhaust every single one of them in some blithering defense of some cherished opinion? Or, would it be far, far more prudent to simply shut up and live out that opinion in ways that the English language has no words describe?

Of all the sermons that I heard at church growing up, I can’t remember a single message that was preached in any of them. But I can certainly remember the people who preached them.

My Dad did nothing to elevate himself, for selflessness was a trait within himself that compelled him to live outside of himself. And while I doubt that he ever grasped the immensity of his selflessness as it was unleashed into the lives of his children, that forever unleashed life within us that is now being unleashed outside of us.