Those servants who refuse to get bogged down in and anchored to the past are those who pursue the objectives of the future. People who do this are seldom petty. They are too involved in getting a job done to be occupied with yesterday’s hurts and concerns.

The timing is as critical as the involvement. You don’t just force your way in. Even if you’ve got the stuff that’s needed . . . even if you hold the piece perfectly shaped to fit the other person’s missing part of the puzzle . . . you can’t push it into place. You must not try.

From a distance we in the church often look like beautiful people. We’re well-dressed. We have nice smiles. We look friendly. We appear cultured, under control . . . at peace.

Fresh-fallen snow blanketed the range of mountains on the northeast rim of the Los Angeles basin. When I caught my first glimpse of it in the distance, I found myself smiling and saying aloud, “Beautiful!” Seventy-five miles away, it was beautiful. Up close, well, that was an entirely different matter.

It had been a long time since Horace Walpole smiled. Too long. Life for him had become as drab as the weather in dreary old England. Then, on a grim winter day in 1754, while reading a Persian fairy tale, his smile returned. He wrote his longtime friend, Horace Mann, telling him of the “thrilling approach to life” he had discovered from the folk tale.