Over and over again mediocrity is promoted because real worth isn't to be found.

Maybe the desert wisdom of the Dakotas can teach us to love anyway, to love what is dying, in the face of death, and not pretend that things are other than they are. The irony and wonder of all of this is that it is the desert's grimness, its stillness and isolation, that brings us back to love.

If grace is so wonderful, why do we have such difficulty recognizing and accepting it? Maybe it's because grace is not gentle or made-to-order. It often comes disguised as loss, or failure, or unwelcome change.

If we are lucky, we can give in and rest without feeling guilty. We can stop doing and concentrate on being.

This is a God who is not identified with the help of a dictionary but through a relationship.

We can't give our children the future, strive though we may to make it secure. But we can give them the present.

When I was a child, it was a matter of pride that I could plow through a Nancy Drew story in one afternoon, and begin another in the evening. . . . I was probably trying to impress the librarians who kept me supplied with books.