I have two Facebook friends who always post statuses at night right before they sleep. Quite frankly, I already know that people who sleep at night are tired. If you were at my house and wanted to wish me goodnight, obviously, I won't spurn it. But I would be utterly unshocked to find that you are tired every night at say, 11:30. If you truly believe this forum to be a giant virtual house and we are the Waltons, tag me. I'll be more than happy to return your appeal for friendship affirmation couched in the form of 'I'm tired' with all the affection I can muster.
Failing that, though, I must conclude that you simply are vain, and you need attention from others up 'til the very moment you pass from consciousness to sleep. I've known vain people; there are worse things. [Yeah, you're vain. You blather on pointlessly in the hope someone cares.--ed.] I agree. But writers are a special kind of vain. A writer knows that you don't have to read the book or open the blog page. You 'converse' with me because you want to. If someone else is more interesting, if the oddly bilateral monologue between author and reader proves unfruitful or untimely, or any other thing, the choice is all yours.
I can easily say in my own defense that I write for me, and I don't mind inviting you along. This broken world begs for the images of God to partner with God in putting it all back together in the whole realm of his created things. Some build skyscrapers and some build finely-tuned German automobiles or myriad other things. I'm trying to help with words. In the last seven years, the thing that has charged me up, has made me feel useful for the first time in my life, is to write. Anyone who has known me also knows I love conversation. But how often do the needs of this life intrude on the conversations no one wants to end? This is why we have memories, I believe. So we can store the things that matter for a later time. Books are special things, too. Someone found it so important to speak something good, true, or beautiful that he got some friends together to make that memory as permanent as possible. We could be wrong about any of that, of course. After all, I'd rather read Ratzinger than Schleiermacher, and you could do your own comparisons. Writing a book may make you highly esteemed, but it won't necessarily make you correct. But that we try means we're made as keepers of something beyond valuable. More than that, we are that thing. Think on that.
I didn't come here to tell you that. I came here to tell you to see "For Greater Glory" when you get the chance. Frankly, I lack the words to tell you why, so I'll keep it brief. I only know that this witness, this heroism, moves me so deeply that I'm not the same. It wasn't a movie; it was a testimony. But if you must know, Academy Awards are due to someone for this. I may be a tad emotional, but a whole theater of sobbing patrons tells me something.
Failing that, though, I must conclude that you simply are vain, and you need attention from others up 'til the very moment you pass from consciousness to sleep. I've known vain people; there are worse things. [Yeah, you're vain. You blather on pointlessly in the hope someone cares.--ed.] I agree. But writers are a special kind of vain. A writer knows that you don't have to read the book or open the blog page. You 'converse' with me because you want to. If someone else is more interesting, if the oddly bilateral monologue between author and reader proves unfruitful or untimely, or any other thing, the choice is all yours.
I can easily say in my own defense that I write for me, and I don't mind inviting you along. This broken world begs for the images of God to partner with God in putting it all back together in the whole realm of his created things. Some build skyscrapers and some build finely-tuned German automobiles or myriad other things. I'm trying to help with words. In the last seven years, the thing that has charged me up, has made me feel useful for the first time in my life, is to write. Anyone who has known me also knows I love conversation. But how often do the needs of this life intrude on the conversations no one wants to end? This is why we have memories, I believe. So we can store the things that matter for a later time. Books are special things, too. Someone found it so important to speak something good, true, or beautiful that he got some friends together to make that memory as permanent as possible. We could be wrong about any of that, of course. After all, I'd rather read Ratzinger than Schleiermacher, and you could do your own comparisons. Writing a book may make you highly esteemed, but it won't necessarily make you correct. But that we try means we're made as keepers of something beyond valuable. More than that, we are that thing. Think on that.
I didn't come here to tell you that. I came here to tell you to see "For Greater Glory" when you get the chance. Frankly, I lack the words to tell you why, so I'll keep it brief. I only know that this witness, this heroism, moves me so deeply that I'm not the same. It wasn't a movie; it was a testimony. But if you must know, Academy Awards are due to someone for this. I may be a tad emotional, but a whole theater of sobbing patrons tells me something.
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