A Wide Place

As the youngest of four children, I was always the last to experience the privileges that came with growing up. I remember one year waiting impatiently for my birthday—the day I would finally be allowed to have my very own pocketknife. I wanted it right away. I wanted to carve sticks and notch arrows like my older brother could. But my parents were very strict: I had to be old enough, and I also had to be trained through Scouts in how to use knives properly and safely. I knew that my pocketknife privileges would be revoked the first time I failed to abide by the safety rules I learned. I didn’t fully understand why my parents were so serious about these regulations until my neighbour cut his thumb with a pocketknife badly enough to need stitches. After that, I saw the wisdom of my parent’s rules more clearly. Their strictness was protecting me and freeing me to enjoy the benefits of my pocketknife without being hurt by it. I saw that their commands were actually an expression of their love for me.

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One Day Leads To Another

I have learned over the years to temper my expectations about what can actually be accomplished in a single day. I’m not proud of this—I would be far happier if I could tell you that after consistently exceeding my own expectations of productivity I’ve had to adjust them in the other direction. The days are quick, though, and before I know it the morning is almost over and then after lunch the hours fly and it’s evening and I should really get to bed or I’ll be cross in the morning with my sleep-stealing self. I would love to do great things and see great progress today, but it’s hard to fit all those big, shiny things into one little square on the calendar.

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Heroes and Villains

One of my favourite things about a good story is the character development. I love it when I can watch someone in the story growing and changing and learning as the circumstances they face force them to make decisions and live with the consequences of their mistakes or taste the rewards of their sacrifices. Some of my favourite characters in literature are far from perfect, but they reflect our common humanity and they teach me something about how our personal character—for good or for evil—is forged slowly in the furnace of decisions. Even our small, daily choices will be motivated and directed either towards a love for self above all, or a love for God that expresses itself in love for others. Over time, these choices shape us. These choices make us. That’s what I was thinking about when I wrote this triple poem (is a triple poem even a thing? Anyway, it is now):

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