should I talk about religion here?

I guess quite a few things in my life are tied to my religion: my views life, my plans for afterlife. I do hope strongly for the afterlife. Otherwise, what's the point?

a higher price

A greater happiness costs more. Like having kids. They wear you out, but then you lose yourself when they smile at you. To have such happiness parents put up with exhaustion. No happiness is given without a struggle. The bigger the joy the higher the price.

Healthy criticism

Nothing can survive without healthy criticism. Every organization needs someone taking it apart once in a while. I don't appreciate the obnoxious media, but we need them to keep everybody in check. And the more obnoxious it gets the more the conservative wing needs to balance it out. That's the beauty of free speech.
What about churches. In our church, for instance, criticism is often hushed. I agree that contention draws people away from the church. But the complete absence of the healthy criticism leads to the tolerance of various personal quirks that are often presented as the church policy.

goals and aspirations

Twice in the past two weeks someone asked me what my goals and aspirations were. My mind went blank for a moment. What are my goals and aspirations? Who knows... First time I wrote "I want my children to be righteous. I guess that's it. I am a stay-home mom. I don't have any career goals (for the moment). I still haven't figured out what my goals are. I am just so overwhelmed by taking care of the boys and the church calling, I did not take a moment yet to stop and reflect upon my life. May be I need to.

path of a worm

I saw a half-squished worm while jogging tonight. His one half was flat and dry, the other was already making plans for dinner. What a life... I can't explain why but in that second I have compared all my life with this worm. I laughed to myself. There were too many things in common. Each of us had a path, a purpose and a struggle. They just differed in size, but hey... being bigger doesn't make someone more important on the universe scale. One could really ponder the meaning of life. Watching that little guy squirming, trying to figure out how the hell to get going, muttering a few worm swear words under his breach, getting desperate, I felt for him.
I made a detour so I could see more of the sky (sunset, you know). The clouds covering the sun shone with gold, so rich in their color, I would made a condescending comment "Too much!", if it was someone's XVII century dining room. But who can accuse nature of being too generous on gold paint? I had to be a part of it. My half-squished fellow was a part of it too. Was it his as it was mine?
Anyway, just a glance at life... I wonder what's become of him.

what drives the humanity

I think I've got it. What is it that really matters to all of us? Our actions, goals, intentions, mistakes, terrible mistakes - all and all for one thing only - a feeling. Feelings matter. One becomes a doctor or a lawyer for the feeling of success, power, being helpful, etc. I've seen people spending all their lives in a pursuit of their carrier, hobby, obsession. If only we can pin point the feeling we are after, and weigh the importance of it, we would define our lives differently. We'd care for things less. I sat and sorted our what feelings I want in my life. That unique love which exists in our home is one if them. This particular feeling is deep, strong and meaningful. It fills my being with such force and life, that I feel I am a part of a spectacular universe of light. Some feelings need to be sacrificed in order to keep the ones I want. I must leave the silly selfish itches of my naughty ego. Each chooses to either grow and become more, or to grab on to the basic little feelings. These feelings are like mice.

quiet contamplation

I don't write much here. If only I could connect my brain waves to the internet... What was it that's been filling my mind?...
Erie is quiet. I haven't felt this quiet since home. I used to sit at my desk by a big square window. I'd watch sun going behind the bare tree branches between the roof tops, and I'd think, and write, and read. I missed that feeling of tranquility. It felt as if time had stopped. A few nights ago, I was getting Matt to sleep. His bedroom window faces west. I sat on the bed and watched the sunset, and the time stopped again. What is ten - fifteen years? Time really is just in our heads, a mere illusion. There is more of the timeless eternity in a moment of quiet contemplation than in all the religious discussions of the world.