It has been a mistake living my life in the past. One cannot ride a horse backwards and still hold its reins.

Love is never convenient-and rarely painless

"Wait and see" is no easier now than it was as a child.

As we walk our individual life journeys, we pick up resentments and hurts, which attach themselves to our souls like burrs clinging to a hiker's socks. These stowaways may seem insignificant at first, but, over time, if we do not occasionally stop and shake them free, the accumulation becomes a burden to our souls.

. . .and every native has a story of winter – stories that usually begin, You call this a storm? And grow in the telling like battle tales shared by graying war veterans. It’s a peculiar character flaw to those of us from cold climates that we feel superior to those who have the sense to live elsewhere.

Roses can grow in slums just as weeds can grow around mansions.

Sometimes our arms are so full with the burdens we carry that it hinders our view of the load those around us are staggering beneath.