Fairness is not something to which we are entitled. Rather, it is something for which we hope.

Death reminds us that life is a temporary privilege, not an endless right.

At the very point that I’ve taken something for granted, I have at that same moment taken it to its grave. And if I look around, I realize I’ve cultivated quite a cemetery.

My fear of endings too often blocks my hope of beginnings.

Hope is not some thin thing that is subject to the winds of fate, but it is crafted hard by the hands of God.

To be ignorant of the sacrifices of others that yielded the blessings I enjoy leaves me exchanging the reality of 'blessing' for the assumption of 'entitlement.' And once that happens, I will forfeit the reality of the former which will destroy the assumption of the latter. And in what terribly dark place will that now leave me?