Sometimes I use my feisty 1/2 Irish heritage as an excuse to choose quick temper over patience. I confess. More and more though, I’ve learned that choosing the high road, the open hand held out, leads to better things, and I think I’m starting to get pretty good at making this better choice. This week I had a few lessons in this. I’ve liked this poem for a long time.
Choose – by Carl Sandburg
The single clenched fist lifted and ready,
Or the open asking hand held out and waiting.
For we meet by one or the other.