A Quote by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

The question then is, how much are you willing to give?" And I answered, "Anything." A breath later, Zane echoed my response with, "Everything. — © Amelia Atwater-Rhodes
The question then is, how much are you willing to give?" And I answered, "Anything." A breath later, Zane echoed my response with, "Everything.
In a complex universe, in a society undergoing unprecedented change, how can we find the truth if we are not willing to question everything and to give a fair hearing to everything?
Your mind, in order to defend itself starts to give life to inanimate objects. When that happens it solves the problem of stimulus and response because literally if you're by yourself you lose the element of stimulus and response. Somebody asks a question, you give a response. So, when you lose the stimulus and response, what I connected to is that you actually create all the stimulus and response.
Give up as much as you're willing to receive back and give yourself, if that makes any sense. Whatever that is, don't expect more from a person than what you're willing to give, but give it knowing that you're giving it - it's been given, so don't expect anything else.
In order to make any permanent changes, you have to be willing. Willing to see things differently. Willing to experience new ideas. Willing to listen to the people who cheered you on rather than ones who echoed your fears.
We don’t experience the world fully unless we are willing to give everything away. Samaya means not holding anything back, not preparing our escape route, not looking for alternatives, not thinking that there is ample time to do things later
The question is not, how much of what is mine do I give to others. The question is, how much of what is God's do I reserve for myself. The answer we give is a faith issue, a stewardship issue.
Love is extravagant in the price it is willing to pay, the time it is willing to give, the hardships it is willing to endure, and the strength it is willing to spend. Love never thinks in terms of "how little," but always in terms of "how much." Love gives, love knows, and love lasts.
It is very enjoyable, writing a story. You get this idea. It takes hold of you. And then you spend day and night thinking about how to do it. And then you do it. And much later, you think, 'Oh, yes. That's an interesting question.'
You have to have conviction and completely question everything and anything you do. No matter how much you study, no matter how much you know, the side of your brain that has the smarts won't necessarily help you in making art.
Sometimes you walk into things, that, if you were paying attention, vibrationally, you would know right from the beginning that it wasn't what you are wanting. In most cases, your initial knee-jerk response was a pretty good indicator of how it was going to turn out later. The things that give most of you the most grief are those things that initially you had a feeling response about, but then you talked yourself out of it for one reason or another.
I have an argument that to master any field, it's simple: it's a function of time. How much you devote yourself to the process, how much experience you get, how much you're willing to expand your limits, how willing you are to develop your own style. If you're willing to put 10,000 hours, something amazing is going to happen.
Anything that brings you to a decision will be answered. The stronger the decision is, the faster it's answered. So if you're in a situation where it seems life or death, and the desire is strong, it is answered now, because it must be answered now to be answered at all.
Great question in science - questions like the ones Herschel raised about the structure of the universe - are seldom answered by ivory-tower types engaging in pure thought. They are answered by people who are willing to get down into the trenches and grapple with nature. If that means casting your own telescope mirrors, as Herschel did, so be it.
Psychologically speaking, the rational, healthy response to climate change is to say to oneself, "What can I do about this?" But that question is often answered through individual action.
All I did was collect a few of the questions I've been asked through the years, write up a brief response and put them in this publication. As a pastor, you get asked questions and receive emails. Many of them I had answered, but just in conversation. So we kind of re-crafted the question and answered it. It turned out to be an interesting exercise. I hope it's encouraging for people.
At the close of life the question will be not how much have you got, but how much have you given; not how much have you won, but how much have you done; not how much have you saved, but how much have you sacrificed; how much have you loved and served, not how much were you honored.
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