Last night I glanced over at my nightstand and realized something: my "need to read" pile has quietly become a small mountain. To make matters worse, I have another couple of books arriving this weekend.
My wife is out of town for a couple of days, so I have a choice. I can clean the house or I can start working through that growing stack of books.
Take a guess which one I'm doing.
If you guessed "both," you'd be right. The house doesn't clean itself, and just because she's away doesn't mean it's all her responsibility. Besides, a little balance never hurt anyone.
I finally picked up a book I bought back in May but hadn't given the attention it deserved: Practical Freemasonry. I wasn't very far into it before it started asking questions I wasn't entirely prepared to answer.
Have you ever been happily moving through life, convinced you were on the right track? Your ducks were in a row. Everything was smooth sailing. Then you read something that quietly unsettles you—not because it tells you you're wrong, but because it makes you wonder if you've been settling for "good enough."
That was Chapter One.
I've written on this page for the last five or six years with the hope of sharing my Masonic thoughts and experiences in a way that encourages others and, in some small measure, helps make the world a better place. The first chapter of Practical Freemasonry challenged me to ask whether I've truly been serving my Brothers, my Fraternity, and myself as fully as I could—or if I've occasionally been giving lip service to ideas that deserve much deeper respect.
For the record, I don't honestly believe I've fallen short in that way. But I do believe that if I ever stop asking myself that question, I've probably stopped growing.
The book opens with a beautiful poem titled The Work Begins in Silence. It paints the image of a rough stone patiently waiting for the Master's hands to begin shaping it. Before the visible work begins, there is a quiet readiness—a willingness to be transformed.
As speculative Masons, we are those stones.
Our work also begins in silence.
Reading those words reminded me of a lyric from a song I started writing years ago:
"What the world will one day see, first must grow invisibly."
That idea has stayed with me ever since.
Josh explains that this isn't a book to race through from cover to cover. It's really a workbook. Read a chapter, then spend the next seven days practicing what you've learned before moving on.
I already know I'll read Chapter One at least a couple more times before turning the page.
One lesson stood out immediately.
You don't need more time. You're not getting any more than the twenty-four hours you've already been given.
You don't need more energy.
You don't even need more motivation.
You simply need willingness.
A willingness to change.
A willingness to be honest with yourself.
A willingness to be corrected.
A willingness to heal.
Now, what do I mean by "heal"?
When a craftsman places the chisel against the stone and strikes it with the common gavel, pieces break away. Sometimes they're tiny chips. Sometimes they're much larger than expected.
Either way, the stone changes.
Growth often hurts.
Whether the change is physical, emotional, or spiritual, becoming something better almost always requires giving something up. It reminds me of childhood nights when your legs ached for no obvious reason.
Growing pains.
The author then asks a simple question: What do you do the moment you wake up?
For me, the answer usually goes something like this: bathroom, let the dogs out, make coffee, grab a cigar, and settle onto the front porch.
Not always in that exact order.
But what if, before any of that, I simply paused?
What if, before standing up, before checking my phone, before letting the day sweep me away, I planted my feet on the floor, took a few slow breaths, and made a conscious declaration that today I would live with intention?
Not by accident.
Not by habit.
But with purpose.
To think before reacting.
To choose my words.
To make every action a deliberate one.
The author is realistic enough to admit that some days we'll fail. Life has a way of interrupting our best intentions. We'll lose our patience. We'll break off more than we meant to. We'll make mistakes.
His encouragement is simple:
Keep going.
Keep practicing.
Stay at the work.
This isn't about perfection.
Perfection is a myth.
Progress, however, is very real.
Tonight, after Lodge—it's our fifth Thursday gathering, one of those rare evenings when we simply enjoy each other's company—I'll come home and read that first chapter again.
And I'll spend some time thinking about what it really means to live with intention.
Because when you strip everything else away, isn't that really what we're all trying to do?
Not simply talk about our values.
Not merely admire them.
But to live them—one intentional day at a time.
I love you and may we govern ourselves accordingly
Published as a Facebook post on "The Past Master's Thoughts" by WB Duane Marshal on July 30, 2026
