Even The Finest Workman Needs To Inspect

Every Person Passing Through This Life Will Unknowingly Leave Something And Take Something Away. Most Of This “something” Cannot Be Seen Or Heard Or Numbered Or Scientifically Detected Or Counted. It’s What We Leave In The Minds Of Other People And What They Leave In Ours. Memory. The Census Doesn’t Count It. Nothing Counts Without It.

Public Lives Are Lived Out On The Job And In The Marketplace, Where Certain Rules, Conventions, Laws, And Social Customs Keep Most Of Us In Line. Private Lives Are Lived Out In The Presence Of Family, Friends, And Neighbors Who Must Be Considered And Respected Even Though The Rules And Proscriptions Are Looser Than What's Allowed In Public. But In Our Secret Lives, Inside Our Own Heads, Almost Anything Goes.

If You Tell People You Talk To God, They'll Think You're Religious, But If You Say God Talks To You, It's Ten To One They'll Think You're Crazy.

Remember The Little Seed In The Styrofoam Cup. The Roots Go Down And The Plant Goes Up And Nobody Really Knows How Or Why, But We Are All Like That.

I Am A Fragment Of A Mirror Whose Whole Design And Shape I Do Not Know. Nevertheless, With What I Have - I Can Reflect Light Into The Dark Places Of This World - Into The Black Places In The Hearts Of Men - And Change Somethings In Some People. Perhaps Others May See And Do Likewise. This Is What I Am About. This Is The Meaning Of My Life.