If we love something and somebody so much, how much – if at all – are they ever really gone from our hearts?
In any conversation, I was taught, there are at least three parties: you, the other person, and the Lord.
Mitch, that’s what faith is. If they spit in your face, you say it must be raining. But you still come back tomorrow.
Mitch, if you’re trying to show off for people at the top, forget it. They will look down at you anyhow. And if you’re trying to show off for people at the bottom, forget it. They will only envy you. Status will get you nowhere. Only an open heart will allow you to float equally between everyone.
We are, as we die, who we most were in life...
These were people so hungry for love that they were accepting substitutes. They were embracing material things and expecting a sort of hug back. But it never works. You can’t substitute material things for love or for gentleness or for tenderness or for a sense of comradeship.
No life is a waste .
Holding anger is a poison. It eats you from inside.
And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them, too – even when you’re in the dark. Even when you’re falling.
Love, like rain, can nourish from above, drenching couples with a soaking joy.
No, I say. You knew me. You knew that person, but you don’t know the person that I’m trying to become.
You might think a person who brings proof of heaven would be embraced. But even in the presence of a miracle, the human heart will say, Why not me?
Because there was a ghost involved, you may call this a ghost story. But what family isn’t a ghost story? Sharing tales of those we’ve lost is how we keep from really losing them.
If you find one true friend in life, you’re richer than most. If that one true friend is your husband, you’re blessed.
We could look out our windows and still see your face, still hear your voice on the wind. But where do we look for you now?
How do we say good-bye to you without saying good-bye to apiece of ourselves? Where do we look for you now?
This is your house, Reb. You are in the rafters, the floorboards, the walls, the lights. You are in every echo through every hallway. We hear you now. I hear you still. How can I – how can any of us – let you go? You are woven through us, from birth to death.
At I Am My Brother’s Keeper, there were no dues, no drives, no singles nights. Membership grew the old-fashioned way: a desperate need for God.
Have you found someone to share your heart with?” he asked. “Are you giving to your community? “Are you at peace with yourself?
He was intent on proving that the word ‘dying’ was not synonymous with ‘useless’.