Finding Forrester Quotes

Only in the moments of being alone in the darkness on the raft, will you have the space to speak, listen, and to act from the heart. Only in the moments of pain, do we begin to empathize with humankind. Only when you are lost, you will find new meaning. Float on.

You write your first draft with your heart, and you rewrite with your head.

Bubba was my best good friend. And even I know that ain't something you can find just around the corner.

First you must find... another shrubbery! Then, when you have found the shrubbery, you must place it here, beside this shrubbery, only slightly higher so you get a two layer effect with a little path running down the middle. ("A path! A path!") Then, you must cut down the mightiest tree in the forrest... with... a herring!

What initially began as a couple of pieces that fitted together from first dates, slowly expands with time and for a moment the puzzle actually looks like it will be realized. Heartbreak is when the puzzle is nearly finished and you suddenly realize that pieces are missing. Perhaps they were never in the box in the first place or perhaps they went missing along the way; regardless, the puzzle remains undone. You frantically search the box and your surroundings, desperately trying to find the missing pieces, anxiously looking to fill the void, but you search for what cannot be found.

Granma said when you come on something good, first thing to do is share it with whoever you can find; that way, the good spreads out where no telling it will go. Which is right.

I still believe that you truly find yourself not in travel, but in other human souls.

No thinking - that comes later. You must write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is... to write, not to think!

This is exactly why I can’t understand the path of vengeance. No matter how much someone has hurt me, I still find no pleasure in seeing them hurt.

He was, in his heart, an optimist, and he didn’t try to hide it. And I admired him for it. I was too sarcastic to be an optimist, but anywhere I could find a bit of hope, it was beautiful to me.

This boy has negative charisma. He walks into a room and the oxygen starts to evaporate. I guess that's why girls sleep with him. They find his awfulness transfixing. He's like a lousy 1970's disaster movie that they can't bring themselves to turn off, even though it is making their life worse every minute they leave it on.

Granma said I had done right, for when you come on something that is good, first thing to do is share it with whoever you can find; that way, the good spreads out to where no telling it will go. Which is right. I

I was half tempted to blurt out that they’d mistaken me for someone else, but… Maiden of fire? I couldn’t quite find it in myself to turn that title down.

desperation had a way of making you find strength you thought you'd lost.

To save energy, do not go out lookin' for trouble; chances are, it will find you soon enough.

As you all know, love is… complicated for me. It is something that adheres to no scientific or mathematic principles—it cannot be measured, weighed, or calculated. As such, it’s hard to credit that it even exists. I was certain we could find life in the stars before we could find scientific evidence that love was real.

You'll never find anything like a forrest in search of its trees

Each mortal beast must find it's Ground- be it forrest or fen or field or fire.

Find someone you can be extraordinary with,

Curiosity killed the cat. Trust me," he said, drawing out each word, "you don't want to find out what it could do to the pig.

One day we found them. They must of been holding a gook convention or something, cause it seem like the same sort of deal as when you step on a anthill and they all come swarming around.

How did you find us?” Navan asked, his eyes narrowed and glinting with suspicion. “It wasn’t difficult,” Galo replied. “I found a way to sneak into Vysanthe’s orbit and simply followed the trail of chaos.

Too many people were finding things out about you—you needed to be more careful, but you didn’t seem worried. A secret is only a secret if one person knows it. After it spreads beyond one person, it becomes a liability, and that’s what you were becoming.

In the early 1960s, Rawls wrote that the injustices of Jim Crow were not a topic for philosophical discussion. The morality of Jim Crow was clear-cut in its brutal injustice. The circle around Rawles was more concerned with what Isaiah Berlin declared the 'most fundamental of all political questions' - the problem of political obligation, and its mirror, disobedience. Ethical philosophers concerned with finding a moral basis for the rules of society now looked for a moral basis for breaking them.

Funny. The blazer, skirt and tie become automatically sexy the minute you leave school when you're eighteen or nineteen and pull it out for fancy-dress parties. But whilst you're still there, stewing through Math, unable to find anyone who'll let you sit next to them in the cafeteria, crying in the toilet stalls, you know what it represents and you can't bring yourself to make it look alluring. That would be traitorous and phoney. I knew I looked like shit and I was glad I did because that's how the twenty pounds of gray polyester and itchy navy wool made me feel.

I wasn't sure what to feel. Somewhere within me still blazed my perpetual flame of anger, indignation, and resentment. But deeper than that, there was more. There was abandonment. There was betrayal. There was a hollow sense of grief. For years, I'd been grasping at straws in an attempt to find meaning to my life, purpose to my days. As much as my country had been the cause of my darkest depths of depression, it had also picked me up from them. It had forced me to keep going in some direction, even if it wasn't what I would have chosen for myself. In many ways, being imprisoned had been the best thing that could have happened to me. It had taught me to stop feeling and to simply concentrate on doing. We were worked hard and weren't given time for much else. Days were comfortably numb.

So Anna did not blame the women of her time for what they had created; it was different only in kind from what she had made herself. And if the old soldiers wanted only to forgive, Anna understood that, too, though in her own memory she could no longer find anything that needed forgiving. In the sunlight by her cousin’s grave, she would touch the black ostrich plume in her hat—the plume that, like herself, grew a little older and little more frayed every year—and think about what all of it meant to her. Down the hill slept the soldiers, and she would visit certain of them in a little while, and the thought of them—their faces, their voices, their particular ways—always made her smile. General Nathan Bedford Forrest himself told her once that she had seen the last of a great army, but he was wrong in that, for they still moved out there in the sunlight, all of them. He was right about one thing though: there was no shame in it, not ever.

out that the shootin is comin from in front of us, meanin that the gooks is in between us an our own position. In other words, we is out here alone. Sooner or later, he says, if the gooks do not overrun Charlie Company, they will come back this way, an if they find us here, they will not like it one bit. Point is, we got to move our asses. We get our shit together an begin to work back towards the ridge, but as we do, Doyle suddenly look down off our right to the bottom of the saddle an he see an entire busload of new gooks, armed to the teeth, movin up the hill towards Charlie Company. Best thing we coulda done then was to try an make friends with em an forget all this other shit, but that were not in the cards. So we jus hunkered down in some big ole shrubs an waited till they got to the top of the hill. Then Bones let loose with the machine gun and he must of kilt ten or fifteen of them gooks right off. Doyle an me an the other two guys is thowin grenades, an things is goin our way until Bones runs out of ammo an need a fresh belt. I feed

spilling from his eyes. Cassis screamed, panting, and flapped her fingers wildly, like she was trying to cool down. Her face glowed red like molten embers.  “Water…water,” she gasped, and glanced around. The scintillating luminescence of fire raged inside her body. Talis shielded his eyes from the intensity of light pouring from her body. Another sorcerer flew to them, as if drawn by the attack, and scowled at Talis. Cassis lifted her hands at the sorcerer, as if in a grave struggle against the hand of death itself. The sorcerer curled his fingers, aiming at him, and prepared to strike.  “No, Cassis, stop!”  Rikar ran in a hobble towards her, and in a brief glance at his face, Talis could see love and fury and a terrific sadness. Despite the shouts of warning, Cassis released an enormous fireball at the enemy, vaporizing him in an instant. But she couldn’t contain the power. It burned too strong inside. The light rose to a frenzied brilliance as many apprentices around her started running away.  Her neck dropped. Her flaming, brilliant body exploded in a powerful wave, burning chunks of fire and flesh searing everywhere around her. Those fleeing nearby were cut down by the blast. Some were knocked against the stone walls. Some were blasted over the edge and plummeted helplessly to the ground far below. The ones refusing to leave her side were incinerated where they stood. Talis felt his stomach twist and flip around, and he vomited, coughing, choking on his own bile.  Gasping for air, for life, he tried to expel the image from his mind. A primal fear burrowed its way inside. What had just happened? Was this the terror of magic? He still felt the fire burning inside his body. Why would he risk his life and the lives of his friends? The power roared so strong. Could he ever learn to contain it? Or would he find a fate like that of Cassis? Rikar balled up his fists and pounded the ground, sobbing. Nikulo came over and tried to comfort him, but Rikar just pulled away and curled up. A lightning bolt shattered a nearby tower, jolting them to attention.

Querido Jamal, Alguien que conocí escribió que abandonamos nuestros sueños por miedo a poder fracasar, o peor aún, por miedo a poder triunfar. Quiero decirte que aunque supe muy pronto que tú harías realidad tus sueños, jamás imaginé que yo, una vez más, haría realidad los míos. Las estaciones cambian, jovencito. Y aunque puede que haya esperado hasta el invierno de mi vida para ver las cosas que he visto este pasado año, no cabe duda de que habría esperado demasiado de no haber sido por ti. _ William Forrester

The same way you forgave yourself all those other times you made her miserable, Novak. You ask for her forgiveness and when you find that she loves you enough to see past what you’ve done, that’s when you’ll be able to forgive yourself.

And this was the same great set of skills and smarts that I wanted to raise up against the entire justice system? How do those odds look, Dexter? One hapless, hopeless clown who has proven that he can’t find the floor even by falling face-first onto it? Lined up against him we have the cops, the courts, the penal system, the U.S. marshals, the Marines, and possibly the Taliban….Did you really think you’d do any better this time, Dexter Doofus? Why not face the fact that all you ever were was lucky? And when you let Jackie Forrest die your luck ran out, all of it, for all time. The only good news is that there was nobody left to kill with your incompetence.

Did you find something?” said Mara, his best friend. She wore sage-green hunting pants and a ridiculously frilly white lace top, why, he had no idea. She was funny like that. As she came alongside, she raised her big brown eyes in concern, and glanced at the tracks. She chewed a cinnamon stick and frowned.  He

father’s men had pursued. Lad, don’t want you dying like your brother, you’re the last son of the Storm family lineage, and all.  Finding nothing all day, he scanned the muddy ground for tracks, kicking away needles and sticks. Off to the corner of his eye he spotted an indentation in the wet leaves. He strode over and bent down, flipping his hair away from his eyes for a better look. A thrill raced through him at the sight of fresh tracks. He raised his head and studied a sloshing stream blanketed with a soft mist, and squinted at a path illuminated by the four moon sisters. This was his kill.  “Did you find something?” said Mara, his best friend. She wore sage-green hunting pants and a ridiculously frilly white lace top, why, he had no idea. She was funny like that. As she came alongside, she raised her big brown eyes in concern, and glanced at the tracks. She chewed a cinnamon stick and frowned.  He grunted in response and pointed a short

Talis searched the steamy swamplands for prey, hoping to make his father proud, no matter what the cost. His father’s words echoed in his mind, “Your brother hunted big game when he was twelve.” Why did his words stain his mind like ink on a page? His brother had hunted with a team of men and merely managed to bounce his spear off a deer. Talis was thirteen now and though he’d tried, had been spurned by every hunting trip his father’s men had pursued. Lad, don’t want you dying like your brother, you’re the last son of the Storm family lineage, and all.  Finding nothing

Did you find something?” said Mara, his best friend. She wore sage-green hunting pants and a ridiculously frilly white lace top, why, he had no idea. She was funny like that. As she came alongside, she raised her big brown eyes in concern, and glanced at the tracks. She chewed a cinnamon stick and frowned.

did his words stain his mind like ink on a page? His brother had hunted with a team of men and merely managed to bounce his spear off a deer. Talis was thirteen now and though he’d tried, had been spurned by every hunting trip his father’s men had pursued. Lad, don’t want you dying like your brother, you’re the last son of the Storm family lineage, and all.  Finding nothing all day, he scanned the muddy ground for tracks, kicking away needles and sticks. Off to the corner

every hunting trip his father’s men had pursued. Lad, don’t want you dying like your brother, you’re the last son of the Storm family lineage, and all.  Finding nothing all day, he scanned the muddy ground for tracks, kicking away needles and sticks. Off to the corner of his eye he spotted an indentation in the wet leaves. He strode over and bent down, flipping his hair away from his eyes for a better look. A thrill raced through him at the sight of fresh tracks. He raised his head and studied a sloshing stream blanketed with a soft mist, and squinted at a path illuminated by the four moon sisters. This was his kill.  “Did you find something?” said Mara, his best friend. She wore sage-green hunting pants and a ridiculously frilly white lace top, why, he had no idea. She was funny like that. As she came alongside, she raised her big brown eyes in concern, and glanced at the tracks. She chewed a cinnamon stick and frowned.  He grunted in response and pointed a short spear with a menacing, curved blade at the stream. This was his hunt and even though he’d failed to even bag anything as big as a deer, he swore he’d do whatever it took to bring it back home to father. Mara shook her head, the movement stubborn and terse, her short, brown hair slashing along her neck. “It’s too late. I’m serious, don’t look at me with those oh-please-Mara eyes of yours.”   “But the prints are fresh, an hour old at the most—”  “What are you trying to prove? We’ve been

Robson stood up. 'Mrs Palmer, I understand that you're a friend of ex-Detective Inspector Forrest and that you've been involved in some amateur detective work during the past year, but please do not tell me how to do my job. You are plainly concerned about your own, which is why you've come here. I very much hope we do not find the medical centre is the guilty party in this matter, but time will tell.' With that, he stood up, file in hand, and headed towards the door, holding it open. The interview was at an end

When we first met, you told me that you were selfish—so selfish that I couldn’t possibly comprehend it. I’m telling you today that I see you, that what you deem selfish in yourself, I find the exact opposite. You are brave and loyal, generous and courageous, and your love for me is unlimited and unconditional—I know this, because I feel it. You have been my protector, my compass, my best friend and my mirror. In turn, I promise to love and cherish you—to hold and guard your heart, to be your guiding light, as you have been mine.

I think we’ve both existed for long enough to accept that sometimes you mess up just for the sake of messing up. You take the wrong turn simply to see where the road leads you. You jump into the abyss to find out what’s at the bottom.

I have learned from my long existence and wide range of experiences, it’s that a solution exists for every problem in every world. Whether we will like the solution we find for this particular problem, that remains to be seen.

Don’t find fault, find a remedy,

Finding nothing all day, he scanned the muddy ground for tracks, kicking away needles and sticks. Off to the side, he spotted an indentation in the wet leaves. He strode over and bent down, flipping his hair

taken and I might not be here now. We might still be living in the orphanage, or maybe I would have taken a job and started earning enough to become his official guardian, and for us to move into our own home. Tim might have begun an apprenticeship. Why has this man come to see me? He had entered armed with a crossbow and a shoulder bag. I eyed the bow's loaded tip. Perhaps I had been right about the wardens not wanting to wait until the main labs opened. Perhaps he was going to finish me off sooner: now. I had no idea why a man of such high status would do it personally though, and he didn't move any closer. He strode to a chair near the clock and sat down, his weapon resting casually on his knee. Then he let out a subdued cough, clearing his throat. "I have some news for you, Ms. Bates," he said, his voice nasally and off-puttingly high-pitched. “Ms. Bradbury passed away in the hospital about an hour ago.” My heart stilled. “I also have a proposal for you,” he went on. “A proposal that I suspect you will not refuse." He paused for a moment, scrutinizing me. "A situation has led Her Majesty and the Court to find use for a person with… your type of background. We have been watching the detention facilities, waiting for the right young woman to whom we may offer this opportunity." “Opportunity?" I managed. "You took defense lessons with Ms. Dale up until the age of fourteen, did you not?" he asked, as though I hadn't spoken. I nodded. "The opportunity involves embarking on a mission which, if successfully completed, would suspend your sentence. It would allow you another chance to redeem yourself and reintegrate into society. Your previous crimes would be erased from your record. Forgotten about.

He clenched his jaw, still feeling humiliated at the words. Why did Father’s voice etch in his mind like ink on a page? His brother had hunted with a team of men and only managed to bounce his spear off a deer. Talis was thirteen now and though he’d asked many times had been spurned by every hunting trip his father’s men had pursued. How was he supposed to impress his father if he was spurned at every hunt? Talis and Mara had no other choice but to sneak off and hunt by themselves. Finding nothing all day, he scanned

Love is the most precious of things, my boy… Never forget that. They write a million stories, a million poems, a million songs about it, and they do so for a reason. They do it to replicate a secret feeling that so few get to hold onto forever, and it can only be shattered by death, if the feeling is true. If you find it, don’t let it go,

Did you find something?”said Mara, his best friend. She wore sage- green hunting pants and a ridiculously frilly white lace top. Why she wore such a silly outfit, he had no idea. She was eccentric, to say the least. As she came alongside, she raised her big brown eyes in concern and glanced at the tracks. She chewed a cinnamon stick and frowned.

No thinking – that comes later. You write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is… to write, not to think! — William Forrester, as played by Sean Connery in Finding Forrester

One thing became clear to me that night. Caleb Achilles was a broken man. More broken than I’d thought. But I didn’t care how long it might take him to find himself again. I didn’t care how many layers he had to peel back. I’d stay by his side and do everything I could to help him heal. Because I loved him.

The list of Hollywood blockbusters that conform to the hero’s journey paradigm is almost innumerable. Just off the top of my head? The Wizard of Oz; The Matrix; Jaws; the Star Wars films; Titanic; Braveheart; the Harry Potter series; Rocky; The Lord of the Rings; The Lion King; Finding Nemo; Forrest Gump; The Incredibles; Silence of the Lambs; Mulan; Gladiator; Aladdin; Indiana Jones; Beauty and the Beast; and Dances with Wolves/Avatar (watch them back-to-back).

As a result, choosing between Plan A and Plan B is not a close call. Here’s the astonishing finding from the Forrester data: If you Elevate the Positives (Plan B), you’ll earn about 9 times more revenue than if you Eliminate the Negatives (Plan A). (8.8 times, to be precise.) Yet most executives are pursuing Plan A. (See the footnote for more on the methodology and an anticipated quibble.)II

think back to the first case with the white horse, and finding the woman crucified in the Everglades. I think about putting away a bad guy, and then receiving the little red horse when we were vacationing before.

She peered up at me, sadness in her eyes. “I hope you find a way to enjoy life someday. You learn what’s important when you lose someone. It changes you. Take it from an old lady: there’s no sense in life if you’re not livin’ it and doin’ everything you can to stave off death. Just existin’ will leave you hollow, son.

You know Forrest Gump?" Natalie blinked several times. That was random. Nineties cinema was not a frequent topic of their conversations. "Do you mean that Tom Hanks movie?" Mrs. Kim nodded. "Yeah, I've watched it on TV before." "Well, he was wrong. "Life is not life a box of chocolates. You'd never find a piece of crap in a chocolate box.

Finding nothing all day, he scanned the muddy ground for tracks, kicking away needles and sticks. Off to the corner of his eye he spotted an indentation in the wet leaves. He strode over and bent down, flipping his hair away from his eyes for a better look. A thrill raced through him at the sight of fresh tracks. He raised his head and studied a sloshing stream blanketed with a soft mist, and squinted at a path illuminated by the four moon sisters. This was his kill.

He tried to hide behind a bunch of feathers, but Nikulo stopped and glared at him. “Cowering already? You know you don’t have a chance of winning the Blood Dagger.”  The Blood Dagger competition. Talis thought of the sparring competition held once a year and froze, realizing he’d forgotten all about it. Wasn’t it only a few days away? With Mara injured, they had already moved the date, but Talis knew that House Lei and House Storm would never allow Talis and Mara to forfeit to the likes of Nikulo and Rikar, his sparring partner. Claiming rights to hold the Blood Dagger for a year meant far too much to the royal houses, especially since their house had lost claim to the victor’s rights over the last few years. Nikulo’s coffee-brown eyes sparkled as if he were eager to tell a new joke. He waddled close to Talis, holding a porcelain jar in one hand. He yanked up silk pants that kept falling below his protruding belly. He scratched his curly hair and released a smoky fart, blowing the fumes in Talis' direction. Talis coughed, retreating quickly. Nikulo never should have swallowed that last potion he concocted. All his farts smelled like sulfur and spoiled onions.  “Thanks for that, just what I needed.” Talis rubbed his stinging eyes. “What are you doing slumming in Fiskar’s Market? Finding more noxious ingredients for your potions?” Nikulo moved the jar away from Talis. “No… nothing of the sort.” He frowned and pursed his lips. “Why are you holding a feather?” “It’s

Did you find something?” said Mara, his best friend. She wore sage-green hunting pants and a ridiculously frilly white lace top. Why she wore such a silly outfit, he had no idea. She was eccentric, to say the least. As she came alongside, she raised her big brown eyes in concern and glanced at the tracks. She chewed a cinnamon stick and frowned.  He grunted in response and pointed a short spear with a menacing, curved blade at the stream. This was their hunt and even though they’d failed to even bag anything as big as a deer, he swore he’d do anything to bring it back home to father. Mara shook her head, the movement stubborn and terse, her short, brown hair slashing along her neck. “It’s too late. I’m serious, don’t look at me with those

Finding nothing all day, he scanned the muddy ground for tracks, kicking away needles and sticks. Off to the corner of his eye he spotted an indentation in the wet leaves. He strode over and bent down, flipping his hair away from his eyes for a better look. A thrill raced through him at the sight of fresh tracks. He raised his head and studied a sloshing stream blanketed with a soft mist, and squinted at a path illuminated by the four moon sisters. This was his kill.  “Did

Since our separation, although my heart, mind and body were screaming with despair, I’d had to find the strength within myself to still smile each day for Rose. Her obliviousness was her blessing; it sheltered her from pain. I needed to keep it that way. My

Talis searched the swamplands for prey, wanting the kill he hoped would make his father proud. Visibility was limited due to the thick mist that choked the air. He wiped his brow and sighed, wondering if this hunt was such a good idea. But then his father’s words echoed in his mind, spoken after Talis had displayed the fruits of his last hunt, “It’s just a pheasant, boy. Your brother hunted big game when he was twelve.” He clenched his jaw, still feeling humiliated at the words. Why did Father’s voice etch in his mind like ink on a page? His brother had hunted with a team of men and only managed to bounce his spear off a deer. Talis was thirteen now and though he’d asked many times had been spurned by every hunting trip his father’s men had pursued. How was he supposed to impress his father if he was spurned at every hunt? Talis and Mara had no other choice but to sneak off and hunt by themselves. Finding

Something told me though that the small hunter would find a way to wrangle herself out of it. I chuckled softly before thrusting myself off the railing.

Finding nothing all day, he scanned the muddy ground for tracks, kicking away needles and sticks. Off to the side, he spotted an indentation in the wet leaves. He strode over and bent down, flipping his hair away from his eyes for a better look. A thrill raced through him at the sight of fresh tracks. It was a big boar. He raised his head and studied a stream blanketed with a soft mist and squinted at a path illuminated by the four moon sisters. This was their kill—if they could track it successful.

contingent of soldiers with you.” Almost opening his mouth in protest, Killian seemed to think the better of it. “Yes, Madam.” He glanced quickly at Talis and the others. “Shouldn’t our guests come as well? The priests should cleanse them of…of any defilement that may have possessed them on their long voyage.” The Madam frowned. “I suppose that is true. The priests must perform their rites. Go on, now.” Talis wondered what kind of rites they practiced here on the island. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. He glanced at Rikar who shook his head slightly in a gesture of disapproval. They followed the twins out of the palace with a group of soldiers leading them north along the gardens until they turned east along the wall. Talis snuck a look at the looming outer walls. So close to freedom, if only the Madam hadn’t sent so many soldiers to mind them. But he couldn’t leave without finding his sword. The way opened up to a park surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. Inside, they reached a stand of mangroves. Small wooden temples dotted the interior, with hundreds of strands of white rope stretched from branch to temple roof. White flags with ancient script in gold ink adorned the ropes. Talis recognized some of the characters: death, mountains, volcano, sky, chaos.  “Lieutenant,” Killian said. “Summon the priests, then be on your way. We can manage things ourselves from here on.

Did you find something?”asked Mara. She wore sage-green hunting pants and a ridiculously frilly white lace top. Why she wore such an outfit, he had no idea. She had her own unique sense of fashion, to say the least. Not that he minded it at all. It was part of many reasons why he liked her.   As she approached him, she lowered her big brown eyes in keen interest and studied at the tracks. She chewed a cinnamon stick and grinned.

Did you find something?” asked Mara. She wore sage-green hunting pants and a ridiculously frilly white lace top. Why she wore such an outfit, he had no idea. She had her own unique sense of fashion, to say the least. Not that he minded it at all. It was part of many reasons why he liked her.  As she approached him, she lowered her big brown eyes in keen interest and studied at the tracks. She chewed a cinnamon stick and grinned.

They are also born to listen. But that does not come as automatically. Quick wit, even eloquence, is far more available to the Twins than attentiveness. In the context of a hard, direct birth chart, they may interrupt and finish other people’s sentences for them. In a softer, more interpersonally sensitive chart, the pattern may be less obvious. We find them quiet, appearing to be fascinated by our ideas. But their minds have raced ahead. Despite the eye contact and nodding head, they are oblivious to what we are saying. In reality they have already decided what we are going to say. They are now absorbed in studying our nose, thinking of how much it reminds them of a nose they once knew in high school.

We belonged to the sandstone and snow created by change. The sands of ancient water bodies and high deserts settled and compacted by other minerals and colored by iron oxide. People traveled there to the sculpted sandstone to see it, to be changed by it, made more serene. We told stories about the place to find our place in it and grew possessive and protective, wary of too many tourists, too many hiking feet, too many souls seeking quiet salvation, adding noise with their footfalls.

you find something?” asked Mara. She wore sage-green hunting pants and a ridiculously frilly white lace top. Why she wore such an outfit, he had no idea. She had her own unique sense of fashion, to say the least. Not that he minded it at all. It was part of many reasons why he liked her.  As she approached him,

Around a curved corner came the glimmer of an eerie green light. Talis stopped, his legs refusing to take another step. His blood thumped hard through his temples. Two ghostly-green, glowing orbs hovered in the darkness. In between stood a statue of the terrifying Zagros—in a battle-stance—wielding an executioner’s blade in one hand and in the other he held hundreds of tiny, severed heads tied together by a string. The onyx statue of the Lord of the Underworld. His mouth was open wide, tongue stretched out. Talis felt the hairs stand up along the back of his neck. The statue was revolting. A cloaked figure in black knelt before the statue, mumbling prayers. Golden orbs floated in the air all around the chamber. Candles were lit around the kneeling figure, giving off a freakish, flickering light. Mara grabbed Talis' arm and they hid behind a boulder and bent down, straining to listen. “I vow,” the figure said, “that my father… his soul find shall find respite. The endless war of Nyx—spare him, oh great Zagros, I beg you will spare him such a fate.” She leaned close to Talis, and whispered, “It’s Rikar.” What was he doing here? He was a foul-tempered student of the Order of the Dawn and Nikulo’s sparring partner. After she spoke, Rikar whirled around and glared at them. His eyes glowed green for a moment and then dimmed to black. “You dare violate the sanctity of this temple?” Mara and Talis stepped out from the shadows, bathed in the violent green light glowing around the statue. Rikar raised a hand and Talis felt a sickening energy creep up his legs and into his stomach, squeezing hard until massive bursts of pain shot through his body. Talis winced. What kind of strange magic was Rikar using on him? “Stop it!” Mara hissed, glowering at Rikar. “Leave it for the Blood Dagger competition.” Talis gasped and coughed as the pain diminished. He balled up a fist and started to charge at Rikar but Mara held him back. “I won’t even need to use a drop of magic against you pathetic runts.” Rikar stood and strode past them, shoving Talis aside. “Nice to see you’re all better, Your Royal Highness. I look forward to using my sword to make you wounded again.” He chuckled, pulling his cloak over his head as he stormed out. “What was that all about?” Mara shook her head. “Why was he in here, anyway?” “I really don’t want to know… Rikar has acted incredibly strange since his father died.” Mara shuddered, as if a cold chill had fallen over her. “Didn’t you used to be friends? What happened to him?” Talis wished he knew, but Rikar had always refused to talk about what had happened. Turning aside, she took a deep breath and faced the onyx statue, as if filled with a new resolve. “We have to complete the rites of initiation and do it quickly.” She motioned toward the shrine and they knelt together on the outer ley line. After their knees touched the ley line, a faint green light rose and strengthened into a blistering blaze that Talis could feel in his legs.

Around a curved corner came the glimmer of an eerie green light. Talis stopped, his legs refusing to take another step. His blood thumped hard through his temples. Two ghostly-green, glowing orbs hovered in the darkness. In between stood a statue of the terrifying Zagros—in a battle-stance—wielding an executioner’s blade in one hand and in the other he held hundreds of tiny, severed heads tied together by a string. The onyx statue of the Lord of the Underworld. His mouth was open wide, tongue stretched out. Talis felt the hairs stand up along the back of his neck. The statue was revolting. A cloaked figure in black knelt before the statue, mumbling prayers. Golden orbs floated in the air all around the chamber. Candles were lit around the kneeling figure, giving off a freakish, flickering light. Mara grabbed Talis' arm and they hid behind a boulder and bent down, straining to listen. “I vow,” the figure said, “that my father… his soul find shall find respite. The endless war of Nyx—spare him, oh great Zagros, I beg you will spare him such a fate.” She leaned close to Talis, and whispered, “It’s Rikar.” What was he doing here? He was a foul-tempered student of the Order of the Dawn and Nikulo’s sparring partner. After she spoke, Rikar whirled around and glared at them. His eyes glowed green for a moment and then dimmed to black. “You dare violate the sanctity of this temple?” Mara and Talis stepped out from the shadows, bathed in the violent green light glowing around the statue. Rikar raised a hand and Talis felt a sickening energy creep up his legs and into his stomach, squeezing hard until massive bursts of pain shot through his body. Talis winced. What kind of strange magic was Rikar using on him? “Stop it!” Mara hissed, glowering at Rikar. “Leave it for the Blood Dagger competition.” Talis gasped and coughed as the pain diminished. He balled up a fist and started to charge at Rikar but Mara held him back. “I won’t even need to use a drop of magic against you pathetic runts.” Rikar stood and strode past them, shoving Talis aside. “Nice to see you’re all better, Your Royal Highness. I look forward to using my sword to make you wounded again.” He chuckled, pulling his cloak over his head as he stormed out.

Finding nothing all day, he scanned the muddy ground for tracks, kicking away needles and sticks. Off to the side, he spotted an indentation in the wet leaves. He strode over and bent down, flipping his hair away from his eyes for a better look. His mouth went dry at the sight of fresh tracks. It was a boar. He raised his head and studied a stream blanketed with a soft mist and squinted at a path illuminated by the four moon sisters. This was dangerous. 

Finding your purpose in life is not the most important thing you can do. Christians’ first priority is to commit their lives to God’s glory. The purpose He may have for them is a matter of His righteous will. To assume that God’s greatest concern is to reveal our purpose in life is to greatly diminish the person and nature of God as revealed in the Bible. It also greatly inflates our importance in the eternal scheme of things. In many instances, such ideas are merely code for discontented suburbanites. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This is the great and foremost commandment (Matthew 22:37-38

Consider contemporary Christian radio for a moment. No doubt you’ve preset a few of your dials to your local contemporary Christian stations. A sad and tattered promotion for churches shows up on the radio in every city in America. We’ve all heard it. It goes something like this. Are you tired of traditional church? Do you feel out of place when you attend? Do the messages make you feel guilty? Are you looking for something positive? Are you looking for messages that are relevant? Are you looking for a place where you can belong? You’re not alone in your frustration. Church does not have to be boring. Church does not have to be complicated. Come and join us at the Suburban Church, where you can come as you are. It’s a church designed with you in mind. We have six service times, including two on Saturday night. Or you can stay home and watch in your pajamas. This stuff is like catnip for suburban evangelical Christians. It drives me crazy. It makes me shout at my steering wheel. Seriously, it’s absurd. Unrelenting offers like this make up the bizarre Christian subculture I’m describing. This ad is opposed to a biblical view of the church in every possible way. You should not find it appealing. You should find it offensive. Just think through it. Consider the logic of removing a sense of conviction from church. It’s convoluted. The only way a church can avoid causing feelings of conviction is to avoid the gospel all together.

You find yourself in another world you weren’t looking for where what you see is that you have always been the wolves at the door. Left ajar, gaping, your own door.

With you, I am never in darkness. With you, there will always be a guiding light. With you, I fear no shadows. With you, I am whole.’” Harley’s voice caught in her throat as she read the dedication aloud. “‘With you, the night becomes a gift. With you, I will always find balance. With you, I do not need to hide. With you, I am whole.