I don’t try to figure out what God is going to do next. I just make certain that I’m prayed up enough so that I don’t miss it when He does it.

Some would say that paradise is the escapist ‘fiction’ of hapless minds caught up in the denial of a darkening world. But Christmas would say that the ‘paradise’ of escapist fiction has not a single shred of fiction in it at all.

The greatest angst imaginable is to create something magnificent for those I love and then watch those I love utterly destroy the very thing that I created for them. And while I would surrender under the weight of the resulting carnage, God took a very different approach and surrendered His son to repair the carnage.

The phenomenally improbable message of Christmas is that everything that we were convinced was a defeat is in fact a victory in the making.

I have made myself my own first-responder. And if I’m really all that good, why am I still laying at the scene of the accident?

When we walk with God, we can know that pain is always on the short leash of love.

You have a God. You have a mind. You have a will. And somewhere you have a passion. And if you have enough faith to believe in the first and exercise the rest, you can achieve the impossible.

What's the purpose in all of this if there's not a purpose in all of this?

The extent of God’s grace always eclipses the extent of my grotesqueness. Therefore, I can never be bad enough for God to tell me that He’s had enough.