It’s not the length of my stride. It’s the fact that I’m walking.

The amount of energy that I possess always falls wincingly short of the size of my dreams. Therefore, such a horribly frustrating contradiction has driven me to the singular conviction that the only dreams that God has given me are the dreams that cannot be achieved without Him.

Reality often holds the facts that we desperately wish to avoid, but at the same time it holds the ingredients of the dreams that we hope to achieve.

In our frenzied attempts to catch up with life, we run right past it. Once we have run past it, what we are in reality attempting to catch is ourselves.

How often is my tidy and well-appointed world nothing but the thin veneer of an imagination that I’ve chosen to use in the service of denial, rather than a gift I’ve chosen to exercise out of a passion for change?

Can I do something?” is a far different question from “will I do something?” For the first is a question of ability, while the second is a question of ability rendered irrelevant by passion.

The most spectacular successes arise from those sacred dreams that have been repeatedly bludgeoned by their critics and who’s refusal to fall bludgeons the critics.

I can choose to see a horizon as yet another indistinct place that I can barely make out from where I’m standing, or I can see it as the backside of a glorious tomorrow. And the attitude that I choose to embrace will dictate every horizon that I get to pursue.

If I fashion a box for my dreams and then carefully pack them away in that box, I no longer have dreams.