Isaiah 53.

Who will come to hear the story

one that God has painted true?

With no part about Him special

why should we keep Him in view?

Some before us did mistreat Him,

jeered and scorned the One who saves;

He became a man of sorrows,

Every grief in life He braved.

Though we failed to love His presence,

yet He bears our burdens whole.

We saw death, and thought, “He earned it,”

didn’t see He saved our souls.

He took the beating meant for us –

because of sin, the Son was killed.

He laid His life down for our peace,

and by His wounds, we are healed.

So all of us, who’ve turned away,

had our wrongs and burdens laid

silently, upon His shoulders,

He, our Lamb, atonement made.

He was treated by His people

like a robber or a thief.

He did no wrong during His years

yet the Lord put him to grief.

Now we see what our transgressions

bear as fruit: the death of Him.

We’ve become now seen as righteous,

He intercedes for us, praise Him!



Well Taco.

It was a strange thing when I found myself in a position where I was driving home in silence and the urge to eat hit me, but the hour was just advanced enough for most stores to close their doors to the public.  Immediately, my mind started racing to various fast food options. Burger King was the first one that came to mind, perhaps to the dismay of the general public. Yes, I am aware that their food may very well be microwaved.  Yes, I know that there are other fast food restaurants in the area.  But, Burger King has established itself amidst my formative memories as one of the first establishments I was able to independently travel to and sit down in.  As I started driving down the road to Burger King, Kariya, a hot-pot, Korean BBQ fusion (wow that’s a lot of commas), lit my decision-making up with its neon signs.  Despite being supremely mediocre, it seemed interesting to try and eat there alone without feeling uncomfortable (due to the other patrons indubitably preconceiving notions about me and my life).  I performed a textbook ninety degree turn into the plaza and parked.  I told the hostess that I would be forming a party of one, which prompted her to inform me that single parties are to be made more miserable with an additional charge of five dollars. I was not that desperate to see both my spirits and my funds dwindle into smoke, so I politely (I hope) retreated back to my vehicle.  Isn’t it enough of a price to eat alone in a restaurant stocked to the brim with liveliness and camaraderie?  The aghast hole (read: gaping) that I reckoned to be my hunger was reconfigured in this moment of indignant self-awareness.  I wasn’t hungry; I was lonely.  In that moment, I realized: Lord, I am the woman at the well.  There is a hole in me that I presently had been trying to fill with food, and it’s no wonder it wasn’t working.  I know what caused the hole, but I hadn’t remembered or thought about its existence for a while until tonight.  Maybe it was the silence.  I was far too tired to commit to furthering the line of thought, so I settled on getting some Del Taco since I had already driven back and forth no further than five miles of my house.  Lord, I need healing, and I’m sorry for not following Your prescription.  I know what I’m supposed to do to fill the hole, but I need more time I guess. Forgive me.

Our Daily Bread.

Jude 1:17-18 says: “But you must remember, beloved, the predictions of the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ. They said to you, ‘In the last time there will be scoffers, following their own ungodly passions.'”

We now find ourselves, as a body of believers, walking in the aforementioned “last time.”  Yet, as we approach the return of our Savior, a striking problem becomes more and more visible: the generations have become more and more faithless, aside from the occasional flicker in the darkness.  The love of the Church (and I am not speaking here of the Catholic Church; rather, I am referring to the body of Christ of which Christ is head, as found in Colossians 1:18 and various other places in the Bible) has been mangled by the violent passions of each new wind of doctrine we hear in contemporary society.  Even some of the youth who faithfully attend Sunday services at a church find their vision of Christ obfuscated by their vision of social justice.  Now, this is not to say that the pursuit of social equality in its various manifestations – feminism, black lives matter, etc. – is somehow wrong or to be despised; they are all reasonably good causes, and causes in which we ought to feel a leading to be ambassadors.  I would, however, argue that Christ and His Bride are of far more importance in that when we were still sinners, Christ died for us so that we might have a heart for the brokenhearted circumstances we find ourselves in.

The problem with the love of the Body of Christ is a two-way street: our generation of believers holds our faith with grips that say, “Christ is coming soon, but my future is coming sooner.”  The church is at times both lukewarm and overzealous, creating a veritable chasm in its pursuit of the hearts of our generation.

As believers, we encounter the scoffers in our lives, certainly; in the context of social media and the online world at large, we may even fall perilously (but silently lest we disturb our friends, our co-workers, or anyone, really) into the margin of the quiet minority, bleating along with the loudest voices of the next polarizing issue.  When we say that we know Christ is coming soon, that we know He will come as a thief in the night, that we know to not be like the five virgins who came unprepared with oil in their lamps, what are we really saying? Is it something to the effect of, “I know all I need to know about Christ, but let’s be real; He isn’t coming yet,” or “It’s nice to be a Christian and all, but God probably wants me to be more concerned with helping people in the now and being a good person, you know?” As much as these thoughts are for an audience, they are also the manifestation of a deeper self-critique because I too find myself adopting these positions.  However, just as the disciples never stopped asking questions about Jesus in hopes of understanding Him more, so too should we ask questions about the Christ who lives in us.  Where does that certainty of His delayed return come from? Perhaps it’s because we don’t really have a hope in Christ’s return at all – then again, it may also be the case that we simply don’t know, in all of our “knowledge” of Christ, what exactly to expect of Christ’s return; we exchange our ignorance of His glory for the comfort of facing the present reality when, in the most prostrate of faiths, His return is the reality.  But no, we don’t actually want that, do we?  Jesus wouldn’t want us to just kneel before Him all day when people need to hear the Gospel, right? It’s true, and yet how much Gospel are we honestly sharing in our lives? If we answer the dormancy of our spiritual lives with sound, but empty, spiritual doctrines, how can we expect to speak life into the world around us?  Maybe we shouldn’t be so critical of Judas in John 12 when he is mortified by Mary’s “wastefulness” before the Lord; after all, doesn’t he have a point?  It would be better to use that money to help the poor, wouldn’t it?  If it wasn’t apparent already, many of the questions asked are asked sarcastically; what Judas is doing is not caring for the poor, but opting for his own comfort when witnessing true worship because giving up his own comfort to fall at the feet of Jesus is a greater price than the perfume Mary poured out for her Lord.

The church also has its share in contributing to the lackadaisical faith of its members, but less so because of what the church is doing and more so because of what the church has become.  Defaced by the actions of Westboro Baptist and other very publicly “Christian” groups who passionately stain the testimony of Christ on Earth, the church we love fights a war both against the unbelievers and the believers.  Its plight with the unbelievers is the tremendous loss of trust that being human within the church has produced; society looks with rapt attention on scandal and misrepresentation, and when the humanity of public Christians shows, it pounces on each anomaly as if it were a fact of faith.  And yet, the hope is that they would understand that we are not perfect people seeking to make unbelievers perfect; we’ve merely found a perfect hope that restores our imperfection before the eyes of a just and loving God.  Since this is the case, the church has begun a gradual retreat from the public sphere, believing discretion to be the better part of valor and not wanting to offend anymore people by its “radicalism.” The church’s ability to love has been crippled by humanity’s ability to hate, and so, the church is found at odds with its own body, as an adolescent going through puberty.  It is awkward and no longer knows how to present itself.  Show too much love, and it worries about being a cult; show too little love, and it loses the hearts of men.

In this very long-winded and ill-conceived post, I suppose the most important thing I have to say is that we no longer feast on Christ, the living Bread.  Our appetites are slaked by more present satisfactions because we are blind to God’s reality.  The church we ought to love has become marred by its inescapable past, and believers and unbelievers alike shoot fish in a barrel when criticizing it in its present state.

All that remains is to simply pray, “Father, give us this day our daily bread.”

Give us Jesus.

On Baking.

I’m not a great baker by any stretch of imagination; I don’t know how anyone could really stake such a claim when shows like “The Great British Baking Show” exist.  (If you haven’t watched the show yet, you have something to do in your free time now – it’s fantastic!).  However, when I do exercise my baking wits, I find that the most enjoyable part of baking above sampling my own creation, beyond taking pictures of the final product, is the solitude that comes with the effort.  From my experience, it’s held true that people enjoy baking together; the camaraderie, the division of labor, the shared memories – something about it really brings people together, apparently.  This is not to say that I prefer to be a baking hermit.  I think that baking with friends, especially friends who are more experienced, always proves to be a tremendous learning opportunity as well as a time to have fellowship and literally break bread.

However, something about being alone when I’m preparing ingredients calms the inward storms I face.  The way I prepare my butter to be mixed, how I keep my eyes level on the “one cup” line, and the various idiosyncrasies that come with a novice baker’s “feel” – all of these things thread themselves together in a composition of unrevealed artistry.  While they might not be the best methods nor the most efficient, the connection that develops during the entire process of baking can only be summarized as catharsis.  Depending on my mood, my thoughts, my experiences, it can feel as if the baking process takes years, or it can take minutes.  The preparation of the ingredients allows me to gather my thoughts; it prepares me for the mixing of the ingredients.  When I pour in the dry with the weight, I like to do it in thirds; how I feel at the beginning, middle, and end of whatever circumstances I’m going through.  At the end of it all, I’ll think about how I want to deviate from the recipe.  An odd pastime of mine developed from writing countless persuasive essays is finding skewed facets from which to view the world, and the same philosophy holds for my baking procedure.  I never want to conform to what has been previously established because distinction engenders innovation.  And whether or not the finished product is glass grade is besides the point; the point is that it’s art (thanks Pinkman).  Whatever I’ve baked has been put in an oven with my sadness, my stress, and my pain.  Yet how fitting is it that out of the bitterness comes something sweet?  Life is just one prolonged bake, after all; we start raw, become mixed in with the chaos of this world, and are exposed to heat until we arrive where we need to be, and that’s all.  And so, I bake to place my mind where my heart does not wish to be so that my tears might season the souls of all who taste and see.

Not I, but Christ.

Something that has been weighing on me lately is the notion of who is in AACF, as well as the slightly discouraging talk of people looking for other fellowships.  I’m going to take a moment and be honest – numbers don’t matter to me, but people I’ve grown to expect to stay deciding to leave does hurt me.  I’m glad that God has taken the opportunity to lead me to dust off my keyboard and actually embed some thoughts into digital paper on this thought because I can be forthcoming and genuine about the burden that’s on my heart; I should also really get back into writing, and I figure a journal entry would be the best way to lubricate the rusted fluidity.

But I digress; returning to the topic of membership in AACF, as well as the fear of people leaving AACF for other fellowships, I believe that the anxiety has been slowly finding roots in my mind, and the attitude bears some alarming signs for how I’ve developed in my faith in recent times.  I think the core of this mindset is best approached through two questions: why do I feel hurt when people choose to go to other fellowships, and what does being a member of AACF mean?

The first question is a question regarding who I am jealous for, and how involved I am with the membership of others in AACF.  The honest answer to why I feel hurt when other people opt for another campus ministry is I feel like I’ve done something wrong.  I feel torn between not representing Christ well enough and just being a miserable, wretched person – both of which can be true, but might not be the precise reasons why people search elsewhere for fellowship.  I wonder about the thoughts going through the heads of others and attempt to make efforts to reconcile with them, thinking that a change in my own character is enough to sway their opinion of AACF as a fellowship.  I look around at the brothers and sisters and stand amazed that they seem to not notice the departure of some members, and that bewilderment turns into scrutiny of our own individual characters.  I feel hurt because sometimes budding friendships get cut off by virtue of not sharing a fellowship any longer, and it’s a shame because when did going to another fellowship mean that we don’t worship the same God? When did it mean that I couldn’t even be friends with them?  Once these two accusations come in mind, the gravity of the situation is magnified, and my own faults are shown properly to me; not only do I believe that I have failed to express Christ’s life in my own life, but also I have lost sight of what it means to be a member of the fellowship.

Being a member of the fellowship does not mean that the members are the only ones who know Christ.  We’re all broken people, coming together in fellowship that we might know, to a greater depth, our perfect Savior, Jesus Christ.  Being a member of AACF does not mean that my friend pool is limited to those in AACF; it merely gives me a close community with which to share my experiences of Christ.  However, it need not be the only community in which I may share Christ because Christ’s sacrifice has adopted me into a family with numbers exceeding imagination – a family that I will never know to completion over the course of my entire life.  Being a member of AACF does not mean that I have to have a certain personality, social standing, or otherwise.  It does mean that I have the privilege of knowing many other believers, all at different points in their walks, and understand the characteristics of God through their various stories.   Being a member of AACF is not a binding contract nor is it a matter of allegiance; being a member of AACF just means that God has placed me in this fellowship to meet with these brothers and sisters at this appointed time akin to what Acts 17:26 says.

What is missing, what has been changed, and what has been dishonored is the truth that God is the one who is sovereign over all things.  I feel hurt when other people go to other fellowships because I take it personally; had I half of Phinehas’s jealousy for the Lord and His people, I would see that they are not departing from the faith, but finding other believers to fellowship with and adding to the family that we are all a part of.  My jealousy is a personal jealousy, not a divine jealousy, and my endgame has departed from wanting to see more souls enter God’s kingdom to being a personal validation of worth through a statistical insignificance (in God’s time).  I have not been a member of AACF seeking Christ to be exalted; I have been a proud human seeking recognition by way of membership numbers.  For this, I repent.  I have lost sight of Christ and His glory.  I have misunderstood His will in leading people away from AACF.  I have forgotten His mercy to me and to countless around me, in AACF or otherwise.  In the end, Christ is who we need to express in our day-to-day lives, irreverent of who is watching or who’s approval is garnered.  We are not seeking the praise of man, as I have been, but looking ahead to the day we humbly kneel before God and join Him in His kingdom, singing His praises.  If I am properly representing Christ to the best of my ability and people are pushed away from the fellowship, praise the Lord.  If I am living out the life that He lived and desires for me to live and people are encouraged to join AACF more, praise the Lord.  My only desire is that I may die, and that Christ might live in me, in every part of my ministry and service, bringing glory unto Himself.  For in the end, He alone is worthy, and my greatest boast shall not be in the weakness of my flesh, but in the overcoming, conquering, victorious work that He has wrought in my life.  May we continue pursuing Christ magnified in our lives, and may we see ourselves gradually become transformed into mirrors of Himself.

He Lost First.

Time for some shower thoughts.  This is entirely unrelated to what is at hand, but in the bathroom or in the shower is where I do some of my best thinking.  Something about how the light illuminates individual cells of the fiberglass sliding door while gradually heating water sprays my feet really helps me connect the dots.  Anyways, enough of that.

As a hopeless romantic, the fundamental basis of my thoughts stems from a strong inclination to romanticize.  This ranges from the standard, stereotypical, love-type romance to the true appreciation of love that abides in the core of nature.  The key to being a hopeless romantic, however, lies in the necessity of being romantic beyond reason; where I have been crushed, I only allow my shattered heart to become finer and finer dust, waiting for the heat of reciprocation to weld it into something whole again.  In terms of Christians having dual lives, I suppose this would be my alter ego.  This is the area of my life that I keep “hidden” from God, the part where it’s just about me and my desires, not really having anything to do with God.  It’s not necessarily the healthiest thing to do, but it’s a human fallibility that plagues me to such ends.

However, in the shower, the two lives intersected, and the unintentional emotional masochism of being hopelessly romantic resonated within my perception of Christ’s love somehow.  In a way, I go through what Jesus goes through except to a far lesser degree.  Just as my pursuits have ended in nought, Jesus still pursues those that He loves.  And because He has the advantage of foreknowledge of whether or not they’ll return His love, it makes it an even more beautiful image of how much He loves.  If I knew that there wasn’t a chance the people I pursued would feel the same way as I did, then I would drop the venture at once; Jesus, however, knows that some people will never accept Him, and yet He still loves them.  Jesus is the original hopeless romantic, and His love story is one that defies genre, with the narrative changing in certain aspects per person based on their own experience of Him.  It just so happens that chancing upon this facet of Jesus’s love reinforced my faith and love for Him.  If He can love the unlovable, what’s stopping me from going beyond myself to love people for more than just a purely selfish reason?  We love because He first loved us, and it’s that pure love that I should be focused on expressing, not some fantastical love borne of present solitude, because I have an eternal companion in the form of Christ Jesus.

So Much Pride.

Lately, I’ve just been getting the yawning sense of despair within me that pride is becoming an issue of mine.  This is not to say that it wasn’t necessarily an issue before, but it certainly didn’t get to the point where it actually bothered my conscience.  It is perhaps the result of numerous factors that I knew could potentially boost my confidence to a dangerous level, and now I find myself standing at that level.  But, I suppose this is my first step towards improving in humility – the admission that I am proud.

This gets me to thinking about how complex of a thing humility is, and yet what a necessary component of our Christian life.  The thoughts that always run through my mind go something like this:

1) Am I proud? If yes, why, and how can I bring it back?  If not, am I sure of that, or am I deceiving myself? (Already there is a lurking measure of complete and utter self-discipline and willingness to admit to a terrifying fault.)

2) Am I humble? This is the tricky part, because if I say, yes, I’m humble, is that not in itself somewhat of a boast in my own humility? If not, where is the pride coming from, and this sends me in a vicious cycle looping back to question 1.

There are a ton of self-deprecating thoughts that follow after once I realize what a dangerous position I’m in.  Things such as guilt for not being humble, frustration at seemingly never understanding what true humility is, shame at not being able to be humble while judging others for their pride – it’s all one great, big mess.  But then I start thinking about it more and more, and I realize that true humility is when these questions and thoughts and anxieties don’t even bother showing their faces.  It’s when it becomes such a natural state of selflessness that you don’t even realize that you are, in fact, humble.  The Lord could only be an example of humility if He was paradoxically confident in His humility; however, He lived it out with His actions and it made Him the example of humility for us to follow.  Understanding this is also another interesting point of the Christian walk because then, it becomes a question of not how can I improve my humility, but rather a question of when will I let Him be my humility and boast only in what He has done in me, for me, and through me?  Humility is really still too complex of an attribute for someone as impulsive and cerebral as me to really understand, but I commit it in the hands of my Lord.

Thank You for Coming.

Lord, why can’t I let you fill the emptiness in me?  There are so many times that I just feel so downcast and anxious about my actual position with regards to You.  I wish that I could have been the Christian that I wanted to be, but I guess that’s also within Your will – trying on my own just seemed to complicate things.  You showed me joy and happiness and I felt free, but I was shackled when You tested my heart with struggles and shortcomings.  Perhaps I’m finally learning to seek sufficiency not in others, but in You.  It’s a lesson that I’ve needed to learn since high school, and You know that.  Sometimes, I think maybe I deceive myself as a last-dtich effort to fully turn over my life to You.  I think that I try too many times to apply the “if you tell a lie enough times, it becomes truth” idea to my walk, and it hurts that my human perception of devotion is so intertwined with deception.  I don’t understand – and I’m not sure I want to understand – why I feel like I’ve grown so much in my faith, yet am stumbling over the same problem I had before.  It’s like an uneven growth in my Christian life, and it just so happened that this fault in the ground that I stood upon was what ended up shaking my beliefs.  I don’t know what to do, where to go, and who to turn to anymore.  I just need You to reveal Yourself in me because I have no one else to really rely upon.  I fail other people, and I feel like other people are always so burdened by my issues.  At the end of the day, only You are sufficient and my all and in all; I need You to set a fire down in my soul again so that I can burn for You and only You, and not be obstructed by the things and thoughts of this world.


Long has it been since my last post due to the lack of time; however, the winter break affords me joys that I would not know during the school year.  Despite the “break,” it really feels as if I am in a constant struggle.  Tension at home from transporting people to and from an area leaves me wondering if the head figures in the house understand what they say.  It is one thing to mention my fault in this act; it is quite another to question my faith.  Certainly, conditions with health and mind may play a role in this hopefully absent-minded utterance of frustration and anxiety; if not, much needs to be said of the way we treat our verbiage towards other brothers and sisters.

“I thought you said you couldn’t drive others.  And you call yourself a Christian.”

The last six words comprise of one of the most frequent phrases in the family from a faithful person.  Though it may seem unimaginable to do so, it is quickly becoming an earsore and needs to be dealt with quickly.  Though I myself have never so much as thought of the phrase, it seems to be treated lightly, especially when I am the target, and I have finally decided between writing this post in hopes that the offender may see it or leaving home and not returning.  This six-word phrase should be the most offensive, disgusting, self-extolling object human voices have graced, yet remorse witnessed after its appearance is non-existent.  It is not within my nature to do such a thing, but edification may be gained from the writing of this post, and I hope that I may extract human bias and emotion from it and rely on the Word of God.

Two aspects of the phrase must be addressed: the judgment and the lack of forgiveness.  I certainly hope calling myself a Christian does not mean that I judge others as the Pharisees of old did, and I also pray that it does not lead me to relinquish my sense of forgiveness.  However, the assault of my faith seems to contain an inherent lack of forgiveness and a heaping portion of condescension.  How many souls have been lost by holier-than-thou Christians!  Yet from history, have we learned nothing that we may continue on in this fashion?  Asking me how and to what extent I’ve read the Bible as a way of condemning me engenders not guilt, but skepticism.  Certainly, I have not read the whole Bible; the genealogies and such serve to be a stumbling block in my many attempts.  However, this is not to say that I haven’t taken to heart the Lord’s exhortations and lessons.  Following are a few verses that might prove to be helpful to those who struggle with judging others, and they frequently remind me to keep a civil tongue and reflect upon my own transgression before doling out condemnation to others.

Matthew 7:1-5 ESV

“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you. Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.

Galatians 6:1 ESV

Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness. Keep watch on yourself, lest you too be tempted.

These two verses alone speak volumes of how we ought to conduct ourselves in regards to others in the Body.  In Galatians, it says, “you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness.”  How easy it is to hear words of edification when spoken without animosity and human venom!  It is indeed difficult to maintain gentility while enraged, however, so I will pray for this presence of mind in my own life.  In Matthew, it obviously addresses the issue of judgment, and there is no greater example than in John 8, where Jesus spares the adulteress.  Let him who him who has no sin cast the first stone indeed!  All others would do well to beware of such judgment, lest they be judged accordingly.  Judgment is indeed a persuasive temptress; for this trespass, I forgive the offender, for I myself am weak in this.

The next verses relate to forgiveness, and I am not attempting to boast, but I am glad that the Lord has given me a measure of patience and an iota of forgiveness.  Patience and forgiveness, as I now realize in the writing of this, are heavenly gifts; I have too long taken them for granted and these virtues call to be acknowledged.  The following are verses on forgiveness that have aided me in consciously forgiving others while also praying that I might be even more forgiving.

Luke 23:33-34
33 “And when they had come to the place called Calvary, there they crucified Him, and the criminals, one on the right hand and the other on the left. 34 Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.”

Ephesians 4:31-32 Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.

Even as I seek these verses, I gain more and more light.  For I do this not to lift myself up in glory, but to understand further the conduct in the Church and in the Christian walk.  Being a Christian, to me, represents following Christ, who was God’s Son and the only one who pleased Him.  Even as He was nailed to the Cross, He pleaded forgiveness for His murderers.  What manner of love and forgiveness is this?  Is my act of “indecency” truly enough to call into question my faith and just not forgive me my foolishness?  Had anyone been injured, then certainly, I would feel extreme remorse; however, good food and fellowship were had, so I fail to see the harm in the situation.  

It truly must have been God’s will that moved me to write this.  It removed all my furious thoughts and has replaced them with a spirit of introspection.  The writing of this has been a very intensely personal discovery of how to better conduct my own person among God’s people, and I hope that it may shed some, even if only a single ray, of light on any reader of this discourse.


Post script: All tension has been relieved within 15 minutes of the writing of this post!  Praise the Lord!


A typewriter is, all in all, a rather antediluvian machine to imprint man’s thoughts onto sheets of paper.  Yet I find it to be an incredibly romantic machine; though I have yet to lay my trembling fingertips on the metal keys and listen to the peals of clacking that emit from it, I find myself constantly thinking about it, wondering where in the United States it currently is as it travels homeward.

Now, many have asked, what in the world is the point of the typewriter? and to this I have only been able to produce a sheepish smile and an incoherent response.  It is not so much the pragmatic reason for buying it as it is the romantic notion of having the capability of sitting in my room with a cup of tea and an open window from which I can gaze out into the vast expanse of sky and meditate on what words I am about to impress upon the patient paper.

In its romanticism lays its unique value in my eyes; for esoteric reasons, I simply desire to have a typewriter.  Though the notion of a typewriter having any sort of romantic quality to it may be absurd to linguists who study the essence of the romantic movement in literature, it is because of individuals such as myself that the English language continues to evolve, with more and more forms of quasi-prose poetic pieces springing up from the earthy soil.

Indeed, having a typewriter is of the utmost importance to me in this specific juncture of time.  However, how important is it for me to have God?  Sometimes, I feel that I let myself be carried away by the tide of what this world has to offer, and soon I forget the One who has delivered me from all sin and continually intercedes for me in heaven.  Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who came to Earth in man’s lowly body and accomplished things with man’s body that none before could and none after was able to do.  It is also the Holy Spirit who infuses me with the supply to write more and more and improve in increments.  But, really, how important is having God to me?  This question alone is what we must continually ask I feel, as too often we flex our own muscles, not realizing that our muscles were already crafted in heaven and made in the likeness of God Himself, coursing with godly strength.

What have we to offer that is more than what God can offer.  If anyone has the nerve to say that he can compete, nay, contend with God in His works, I laugh without mirth in wonder at his folly.  How great is the arrogance of man!  Should He desire, He can expand the true proportion of the universe in relation to man before man’s eyes, and man will certainly bow down and realize that he is facing his Creator, he will realize that he is but a speck of dust in the time continuum, and he will see the utter lack of space that he actually has control over.

And so I also see many writers who claim their own merits.  I must admit, I was one of this type.  But I am no longer, for I too have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I that live, but Christ liveth in me! And the life I live now in the flesh, I live in faith, the faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.  I cannot but contribute my successes to my Lord, and I cannot but claim my failures as my own selfish desire to achieve more than what God predetermined.

So now, to all other believing writers, I present a solemn challenge: though of present, I desire a typewriter, I know in myself that I desire God more. I cling to my faith in Christ as the only source of my craft and talent; I am a Christ-type-writer.  What type of writer are you?

– W.L.