I began this morning with this thought from Donald Miller:
Leaders aren’t cynical.
I found this song running through my head this afternoon, from Jackson Browne:
Doctor, my eyes cannot see the skies –
is this the price for having learned how not to cry
And it’s been a long day. I’m going to sing myself to sleep with these words, from Pierce Pettis:
Half of the battle is only with myself
While the other half is something I can’t help
Lest I should stumble I try not to forget
That every hair is numbered, every footstep, every breath
And this life that I’m living it will not end in death
I’ve got a hope that is not in this world
I’ve got a hope that is not in this world
I know my words tonight are both borrowed and brief, but I will let Carolyn Arends sing me to sleep with Pierce’s words.
Peace,
Milton
