Craig D. Lounsbrough

Oh God, please find it within your heart to grant me a heart that looks after itself only because it has first looked after others. And help me to realize that anything less is not a heart.

While we tediously check our weaponry before entering into battle, do we check our hearts? For without exception, that is the greatest weapon of all.

Despite how utterly massive they might be, it is never the size of the arsenal nor the strength of the warrior. Rather, it is a heart bent on sacrifice that is the most potent weapon of all.

It is in opposing the world__ lies that we impose truth in our hearts.

An ending is only happening because at some point it was a beginning. And if an ending is dependent upon a beginning, I would be well advised to focus on the miracle of beginnings verses the pain of endings.

Pain dutifully reminds me that the world is terribly imperfect, but it faithfully helps me appreciate the world on those days when it__ a little closer to being perfect.

I must be ever so careful to remember that my pain is a precious salve that when used in the service of others can heal a thousand wounds and more. And I must likewise remember that if I do not use it as such, I have done nothing more than wound myself yet again.

There is no doubt that the most effective way to heal my pain is to purposefully put it to work healing the pain in the life of another. But that means I must endure the pain of not focusing on 'my' pain.

Pain is nothing but growth waiting for us to give it permission to grow us up.

Although I__e been thoroughly conditioned by pain to see it otherwise, an ending is nothing more than the backside of a beginning.

Without mountains, we might find ourselves relieved that we can avoid the pain of the ascent, but we will forever miss the thrill of the summit. And in such a terribly scandalous trade-off, it is the absence of pain that becomes the thief of life.

Thankfully, the nature of pain reminds us of what the ease of pleasure foolishly allows us to forget.

For love to eliminate pain is to waste it, for it is love alone that possesses sufficient force to bend pain against everything that would break us.

I have finally come to realize that it__ being forced to be honest with myself that__ made my pain painful all along.

Undoubtedly, failure is growth in pain__ disguise.

Failure is information encased in a shell of pain.

My soul is utterly frantic for that single place of perfect refuge from which I can clearly see the winds rip and hear the tempest tear, yet despite the ferocity of the tumult I rest in such a sublime peace it is as if neither existed at all. And if I have not yet found such a place, it is because I have not yet found God.

Peace is achieved when our conscience rests in the fact that we__e engaged in __ight_ living, verses believing that living is a __ight.