Quotes by Craig D. Lounsbrough

Each day hands me a clean sheet of paper upon which to write. Therefore, I would be wise to write without ever having the need to erase.

We have the power of the pen to write the next chapter, and the privilege to author the page in whatever fashion we choose. Yet, seldom do we understand the power of the pen and the privilege of the page.

Arrogance is a map of a road that leads to bridges that are out.

At the point that it dawns on me that I am not God I have finally made room for God.

To declare myself as a genius immediately evidences that I am not.

Authorship of anything apart from God is nothing more than a tragedy in the making.

Simply giving something ‘a shot’ is not giving something our ‘best,’ for our best is made up of as many ‘shots’ as it takes in order to be our best.

The true sign of a robust and mature life rests in how many times that life has been knocked down, for to be incessantly knocked down and yet find oneself still standing means that someone had the resolve to get up that many times plus one.

It’s not about some principled debate as to whether I should focus on what I have, or on what I don’t have. Rather, it’s about being thankful that I have the privilege to enjoy the former, and the opportunity to contemplate the latter.

It might behoove us to realize that isolation is the absence of all the senseless clutter, and all the incessant racket that would keep God from having ample room to show up and sufficient silence to be heard. Therefore, isolation may actually be the place where we are least isolated.

We want a fresh start only because we didn’t sufficiently care for the last fresh start.

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

To focus solely on endings is to trade conclusions for the very beginnings that created them. And if this cycle should persist, we will likewise miss the beginning that will follow this ending.

We’re constantly presented with opportunity, or the opportunity to create opportunity.

Opportunity is present is wreckage as much as it is in that which is wonderful. It’s not so much how it comes to us, but what we do with it.

While real sacrifice is committed to the result, it relishes the effort

I have diligently disciplined my life to search out life’s gifts in the very places where society mistakenly says life stores its scraps. And I am constantly amazed that in the treasure trove that surrounds me, I stand in the company of so few.

We have errantly romanticized love as something we freely get verses something we sacrifice for in the giving.

I would much prefer to enlarge your life by giving you the gift of my life, rather than gifting your life to material obesity with frivolous trinkets.

Christmas is a bold act of emboldening sacrifice and the most selfless gift ever granted the rebellious lot that we are.