Daily Signet

To wander and wander and wander—to be lost from your home—this is pain.

I thought I knew what it would be like.
In my hope for grace,
I thought I knew what it could be.
Must I abandon what matters most to me in order
to achieve that which is more than me?
But the image of my hope becomes unimaginable
when pitted against my daily.
Must I put on the altar my Isaac—my own fulfillment, 
my freedom to give at my own convenience?
I carefully measure what I get against the things I think I need,
but there is no such thing as equal.
It is time to die.
There is no life left.
There is no grace in fair.
There is no way out except by death.
We cannot create an Us without the death of me.
It is time to die, to die—to die to the measurements of my me.

From The Mystery of Thanksgiving and Home Service

On This Day…

Ivan Turgenev born in 1818 in Oryol, Russia: novelist known for Fathers and Sons, First love, and A Sportsman's Sketches. Died 9-3-83
Quotes: "We sit in the mud ... and reach for the stars." "Death's an old joke, but each individual encounters it anew." "Most people can't understand how others can blow their noses differently than they do."