My heart says, ‘This way.’ The world says, ‘That way.’ God says, ‘I am the Way.’ And if perchance I choose to listen to the first two, I’m going to find myself so far off the ‘way’ that being lost becomes the ‘way’.

To ‘live’ is to realize that without the journey the destination is nothing more than a task rigorously completed rather than an experience riotously lived.

All too soon the garden of childhood is paved cold with the asphalt roads of adulthood. And while it is not within her power to halt this unrelenting progression, a mother can diligently guard this most precious garden and insure that the roads become gentle paths that wind through it instead of byways that kill it.

God has hewn out a hidden path more glorious, tantalizing and adventuresome than the path trod by most, and it is a path seen only through the eyes of our wounds, felt solely through the heart of our losses, and singularly traversed by those with a limp in their step.

God beckons me to exhilarating adventures that are without number, beyond all conceivable boundaries, and effortlessly eclipse the furthest reaches of my imagination, all while I sit languishing in stifling adventures of my own limited creation.

A real journey will demand that I put my shoes on, but then I’ve got to stand up and walk. And I forget the second part, the first part doesn’t matter.

Being everything that I am is the very thing I need to become so that I am fully equipped to explore everything that I am not. For if I stop at myself, the journey ended in the preparation.

I yearn not for the easy path, but for the right path.  For 'easy' and 'right' are rarely compatible.

The main character in the story of our lives should be those who share the story of their life with us. For the compilation of multiple stories shared over the span of one life combine to make the greatest story of any life.