At the empty nest turning point of middle age, something arose in me, and my journal became full of entries about being alone. I discovered that two entries written 10 years apart were almost identical. I had not yet learned to dignify "alone" with the name of Solitude, but I knew what I wanted, what I needed—as if my life was depriving me of something as essential as the air I breathed.
Good human work honors God's work. Good work uses no thing without respect, both for what it is in itself and for its origin. It uses
neither tool nor material that it does not
respect and that it does not love. It honors nature as a great mystery and power, as an
indispensable teacher, and as the inescapable judge of all work of human hands.
