I’m a Three-Year-Old

It is with little ado that I note the passing of my third blogging birthday (several weeks ago, actually), having somehow managed to accumulate a rather substantial collection of essays and lesser posts, leveraging millions of letters into thousands of words, scanned by hundreds and read by tens. The worth of such efforts is, by any standard, hard to measure; the metrics of web readership, hits and referrals, visits and comments, providing but poor report of what words may do, or phrases may evoke. That, I trust, must be judged by others, and by Another. Ours is a journey through life often lived for self, but intended in its highest and purest form and design to be for others. Our knowledge of such impact, of whether our purpose has been met or missed, whether our mission has succeeded beyond our wildest dreams or failed in ways unimaginably disastrous, is known, in life’s great paradox, least well by us. For life is measured not by income or position, nor by fame or power, but by lives touched and hearts changed — a metric at once impossible to measure yet enormously gratifying when glimpsed even in some small way.

I am most grateful for those who spend some time here reading, and hope your life is touched in some way, by laughter or love or glimpse of grace.

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