A living planet is a much more complex metaphor for deity than just a bigger father with a bigger fist. If an omniscient, all-powerful Dad ignores your prayers, it's taken personally. Hear only silence long enough, and you start wondering about his power. His fairness. His very existence. But if a world mother doesn't reply, Her excuse is simple. She never claimed conceited omnipotence. She has countless others clinging to her apron strings, including myriad species unable to speak for themselves. To Her elder offspring She says - go raid the fridge. Go play outside. Go get a job. Or, better yet, lend me a hand. I have no time for idle whining.
Forgiving is love's toughest work, and love's biggest risk. If you twist it into something it was never meant to be, it can make you a doormat or an insufferable manipulator. Forgiving seems almost unnatural. Our sense of fairness tells us people should pay for the wrong they do. But forgiving is love's power to break nature's rule.
__Lewis B. Smedes
If I had my child to raise over again; I'd build self-esteem first and the house later; I'd finger paint more and point the finger less; I would do less correcting and more connecting; I'd take my eyes off my watch and watch with my eyes; I would care to know less and know to care more; I'd take more hikes and fly more kites; I'd stop playing serious and seriously play; I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars; I'd do more hugging and less tugging; I'd see the oak tree in the acorn more often; I would be firm less often and affirm much more; I'd model less about the love of power; And more about the power of love;