The way of surviving is to find meaning in suffering.
I wonder if we climb to heaven over the ruins of many cherished schemes.
Plans can be like a winged horse, but their execution plods along pulling carts.
A personal offense is like a scratch on a phonograph record. I couldn't move my thoughts beyond my pain. It kept repeating, as if I were stuck within its grooves. There was only one way to play beyond it. I had to forgive them, so my heart could take its form again.
When lost, I look for gas stations for counsel.
I want the privilege of guiding the arrows of my children and giving them the exhortations that can shoot them into the high place.