I love my country. And my country loves change. Willy nilly, good, bad or indifferent, change is so much in our character, it’s like an obsessive-compulsive-disorder. With great pride, I’ve heard many Americans proclaim themselves to be a “change agent” — as if that were the greatest good.

I’m writing this post in our home that faces directly onto the Atlantic ocean. We call it The Beacon. For 100 years, it has stood here on the coastline, pummeled by winds, sands and salt water. The floors, walls, and ceilings are built of sturdy wood. To modern eyes, it may look dark inside. But to my eyes, it looks built for the long-haul, regardless of which whims of change may be blowing.

As we work hard to maintain this home against age and the ravages of nature, where the most elemental forces are ever-present, there is something to be said for being a “continuity agent.”

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