What a mystery life is, how we never know what the signficance of all our actions is. C.S. Lewis, in his understated English way, has a great thought in "Letters to Malcolm, Chiefly on Prayer," about how we will never know if, long after we are gone, someone we have influenced (or perhaps even one of our descendants) will influence the world as powerfully as Plato or Mozart. And my favorite modern saint, the young French nun Therese of Lisieux, who died of TB at about 23 but left behind an incredible unpublished journal that started a whole movement toward simplicity in prayer, wrote that we may never see the fruits of our good acts in our own life, but if not, "we will infallibly see them at the moment of death." It's that sort of thought that sometimes gives me encouragement when days are long & the sun is hidden by clouds.