Home at last! Spent a week in Chicago at a Trade Show, lots of work, some fun, but there's no place like home!
Here is a little blurb on patience I ran across by Timothy Titcomb, I re-read a lot out of his book Gold Foil. For those that like short reads I'll do this in two parts, the short one first, the lengthy thought second.
"The little polyp may well be discouraged when it sees how little it can do in the creation of the coral world to which, by a law of its nature, it is bound to contribute. But it gives to this world the entire results of its little life - a calcareous atom - and then it dies. But that atom is not lost; God takes care of that. All He asks of the madrepore is its life, and though it may not witness the glory of the structure it assists to rear, it has a place in the structure - an essential place - and there is glorified."
As I read the following passage, I had my son Eric in mind, so this is foremost to him--
"Poet, forger of ideals, dreamer among the possibilities of life, prophet of the millennium, do you get impatient with the prosaic life around you - the dullness, and the earthliness, and the brutishness of men? Fret not. Go foreword into the realm which stretches before you; climb the highest mountain you can reach, and plant a cross there. The nations will come up to it some day. Work for immortality if you will; then wait for it. If your own age fail to recognize you, a coming age will not. Plunge into the eternal forest that sleeps in front, and blaze trees. Be a pioneer of Time's armies as they march into the unseen and unknown. Signalize the advance guard from afar. If you have the privilege of living the glorious life of which you dream, are you not paid? Why, there are uncounted multitudes who walk under the stars, and never dream that they are beautiful. There are crowds who trample a flower into the dust, without once thinking that they have one of the sweetest thoughts of God under their heels. There are myriads of stolid eyes that gaze into the ethereal vermilion of a sunset without dreaming that God lighted the fire. The world could see no beauty in the greatest life and character that ever existed, why they should desire it, and yet God does not get impatient because He is not recognized. The stars stud the sky as thickly as ever; the flowers bloom as freshly as at first, and breathe no complaint with their dying perfume; the sunset patiently varies its picture from nightfall to nightfall, though no one praises it; and Christ, in the garb of humble men and women, looks from pure and patient eyes in every street, and looks none the less sweetly because he is not seen. Therefore, O poet, be patient, though the world see not the visions that enchain you, and remember what companionship is yours. Aye, be patient!
Painting by Max Ginsburg