Because I have ‘chosen’ to see something as impossible, there’s a good chance that it’s not.

The road from ‘here’ to ‘there’ is a map yet to be written with the pen I hold in my hand.

There’s something tightly woven throughout the fabric of our humanity that runs entirely opposite to the baser instinct of looking out for our own good.

It is the length of the journey that ripens the joy of the outcome.

There was a moment when any hope within me froze solid and I was finally emptied of all energy to fight the cold. And at the very point of that very surrender, when I became convinced that I must bow to a world that would be forever frigid, God cupped the hands of my soul and poured in the warmth of Christmas.

If you think you can stand to know what you’re made of, try kneeling before God.