On Reflection

Reflection is not—
As some suppose—
The refuge of the weak.
It is neither the retreat
Of the cowardly,
Nor the pastime
Of the boring.

Reflection is the observatory for the heavens—
The mirror to self—
The armory for the battle of convictions—
The anvil of courage—
The sounding board of conscience—
The headquarters of personal campaigns—
The dispensary of self-correction—
The drafting table of excellence.

It is the echo chamber of speeches—
The depository of lessons—
The storehouse of dreams—
The playroom of the imagination—
The hideaway from fools—
The treasury of wisdom—
The compass of morality—
The parlor of friendship—
The den of family—
The incubator of determination—
The inspiration of art.

Reflection is the forge of character.
It is the podium for addressing self
And the auditorium for listening.
It is the proving grounds for principle—
The chalkboard of planning—
The archive of success and failure—
The clean room of reason.

It is the infirmary for injured feelings—
The time-out chair for the self-disciplined—
The situation room for the crisis—
The courtroom for our anger—
The balance for our judgments—
The camp of the trail-weary.
It is the schoolroom of habits.

Reflection is the grotto of the Image of God—
The foundry of intention—
The planning table of life—
The staging area for engagement in the world.

It is the deep soil in which the virtues grow best.

Reflection is the very wellspring of why—
The well-appointed home of the authentic,
And a mystery to the homeless of mind.