Gifts, equivocating and distractions.
Some of the places in this link are familiar and some are completely new wonders to me.
Pretend I didn't get it from freaking Guidepost magazine, please, because that's a dirty trick they played on me when I subscribed to - oh, God, the ignominy of it all - their, um, angels, newsletter. Yes, I regularly receive a candy ass newsletter about alleged angelic interactions among us and suffer through the seventh-grade writing level for those goosebumps moments where I'm reminded that what's real is a lot bigger than what meets the eye. Anyway, I clicked to see the sacred spaces and damned if I didn't find myself in Guideposts, the mother ship, whose writing is the equivalent to Thomas Kinkaid painter of light® art. (Maybe a step down: a jigsaw puzzle of his art. All big and shiny taking up the entire breakfast table.)
Hmm. Sounds like SOMEbody is raging against the dying of the light.