The point that I think myself to be so terribly clever is the precise point at which I am beginning to think myself to be god-like, which causes me to become God-less.
Choosing a life of safety is safely choosing something other than life.
We have the power of the pen to write the next chapter, and the privilege to author the page in whatever fashion we choose. Yet, seldom do we understand the power of the pen and the privilege of the p...
If a father does not altogether embrace a life of uncompromised sacrifice as the core of all principles by which he nurtures his children, he is a father by birth only and no power on earth can ever o...
Memory is a few lines snipped from a larger story that we are privileged to tuck away between the pages of our minds.
Happenstance is the myth of the simple mind, for it is the deliberate genius of God that what appears entirely disjointed always reveals itself to be stunningly seamless. And it is in reflecting on su...
Rare are the handful of principles that incessantly drive us to stand even when we face the stark realization that we will likely perish in the standing. And rarer still is the person who will surrend...
At the point that it dawns on me that I am not God I have finally made room for God.
Death reminds us that life is a temporary privilege, not an endless right.
The power of a thing is not based on the power it actually possesses. Rather, it is much more about the power that we permit it to possess.
I spend a tremendous amount of time carefully choosing the roles I wish to play so that I can run from the role I was born to play. And if I keep on doing that, I will eventually set foot in my grave...
In one way or another, every mission that I have ever set out on to rescue myself is yet another mission that I end up needing to be rescued from. Hence, there is God.
If you want to completely destroy a child, all you have to do is mold them into your vision of what you want them to be. If you want to completely liberate a child, all you have to do is grow them int...
I decry the injustice of my wounds, only to look down and see that I am holding a smoking gun in one hand and a fistful of ammunition in the other.
If it has anything to do with me, it has nothing to do with sacrifice.
Rather than being incensed by the nature of the bruise, maybe we should be inspired by the possibilities in the bruise.
The road to success is paved with the hot asphalt of failure.
Timeless principles never age, and truth is as young as the day it was spoken into existence.
What insanity would lead me to believe that I possess the power, much less the aptitude to manipulate all of the consequences out of all of my decisions?
An idea without sacrifice, regardless of grand it might be, will never be anything more than an idea.