Although I find most business writers to be shallow purveyors of detestable philosophies, I've always liked Stephen Covey's admonition to "begin with the end in mind." What a wonderful idea, and so easily forgotten. What are my ends? Sometimes it's easier to discern them by deduction, by eliminating the things that clearly shouldn't be ends. Take my alma mater's fundraising campaign, for example, exuberantly named, Carolina First. Whenever I receive their letters, I find myself muttering, "you're not even close."

I read somewhere that it's how we spend our time, not our stated principles, that reveals what we truly value. This sticks with me, and I find myself evaluating how I've done. What was first today? Yes, I know what I tell people matters most, but what did I put first? Sometimes — often — looking at ourselves in that light is humbling.

Yesterday I heard a pastor declare that while God has given his people dominion over creation, too many of us have given creation dominion over ourselves. That resonated with me, because over the past couple of years I've been trying to wrest back control. At some point the things I owned began to own me. The job was first, career was first, my happiness (and there's something that will set you apart from the world — declare that the end is not one's own happiness) were first.

So I left a great job, because it was getting in the way of becoming the father and husband I need to be. I miss it, but I've never once regretted leaving. This summer we'll leave our house, in part because we fit in that neighborhood like tube socks go with Oxfords, but mainly because we see an opportunity to own an adequate home outright. The end isn't simplicity, mind you, it's regaining dominion. The world becomes a different place when you have no debt, and when you need less income to provide for your family. You are less . . . owned — I think that's the right word — when your material need is reduced.

I think we have to cultivate a sense of independence from the material things, the things that can only ever, to a right-thinking child of God, be means to some glorious end that has reverberations far beyond this life. We have to cultivate this independence, because our nature is to seek after comfort, and measurable goals, both of which are furthered by money, and career success, and nice cars, and all the things that trap us into behaving like the people we never wanted to become.

Of course few people would disagree, even non-believers, that family is more important than possessions. But how do we spend our time? That is the irritating, nagging question, isn't it? What do we worry on when we awake in the middle of the night? What do we our thoughts turn to as we shower, as we dress, as we drive? What do we do with our time in the evenings? Our calendars whisper to us the truth about the ends we have in mind.

Some time ago, I made a list of the things I wanted for my children. It included everything from being able to shoot (accurately) a gun to walking humbly with God. Sometimes I take out the list and ask myself how I'm doing. Some days I'm ashamed to look at it. Other days I think there's hope, even for someone like me. We don't control the destiny of our children, but surely we prepare them to wrestle with it, no? Lately I've taken to asking myself, as I get into bed at night, how I've done with them, with my wife. Did I build, or did I destroy? It's never neutral, you know. You are either building those lives, building that relationship, or you are robbing from the ones to whom you've linked your life.

So my challenge to you (and to myself) is that we think, as this week begins, about what we want to accomplish. What are the ends we have in mind? And are we working toward those ends, or working toward ends we'd be ashamed to admit? I wonder how much our lives can change — in marvelous ways — when we begin to force a consistency between the ends we espouse and how we live. I, for one, am going to give it a try.