I did with my might.

My favorite poem in the world is one that my grandfather, my Opa, used to recite. I miss him horribly. He was and will forever be one of my favorite men in this world.
To this day, I can still hear his voice repeating these words:

All that you do, do with your might.
Things done in halves are not done right.
One thing at a time, and that done well,
Is a very good rule, as many can tell.

Supposedly, those were amongst the first and only words of English that his father knew. I figure, any words of wisdom from my Opa, and any words of wisdom learned from a man that survived a prisoner's camp in SIBERIA are pretty honored words to live by. Yes, there are many stories there, but I'll save those for another time.

I recalled those words this weekend as I prepared for something. I'm not happy doing things halfway or partial part. I think I owe a great deal of this to those words floating consistently through my head, ever since I can remember.

And yesterday evening, as I recalled the events of the day, I can with no reservations state that my Opa would be proud. I did with all my might.

Gosh, I miss him.