Light in the Darkness

It's been a while. I've been wanting to write another blogpost for about three weeks, but several thoughts and issues have been wrestling around in my mind, and I've had trouble finding the words to put them at peace. Just imagine five fat, bare-chested sumo wrestlers all fighting each other at once, and me in the middle, trying to put them in their corners. Yikes. It ain't pretty.

But, joking aside, sometimes words are inadequate. When I see a breathtakingly beautiful sunrise or sunset, I can't find words to describe that kind of beauty. When I hear music composed so that it plays on my heartstrings, I'm speechless.

When it comes to tragedy like the shooting of children and adults at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, on December 14 - when it comes to the utter grief of the families who lost loved ones - there really are no words. Nothing I can say will make it better or easier. Nothing I can say will come close to expressing the heartache of those families and that community. There are some depths of the human heart that words cannot touch.

Thus, I have been slow to write anything recently. How could I?

Another reason I have hesitated to write about this tragedy is because of the journalistic rule of timeliness. You're supposed to write about it as soon as it happens so that people still care. So that you're not writing about old news. Well, for one thing, this is not a news blog, nor am I a journalist. Further than that, however, we should never think of such a thing as the Sandy Hook shooting as "old news." Our hearts should heal, yes, but they should not become hardened. Certainly, for those families and that community, I imagine the grief is still as sharp and overwhelming as it was the day after the shooting. Perhaps it is now that the shock of it has begun to wear off, and they feel the pain more sharply than ever. We cannot forget about them just because ten days have passed - it's not old news to them, and they need our prayers and support.

Now, some people would criticize me for this, but I don't like getting involved in political debate or discussion. I'm not good at debating, and I usually don't know enough about the issues to have any meaningful contribution. And, like I said, all the talking and the political arguments cannot heal the hearts of those Connecticut families.

However, watching the world react to the Sandy Hook tragedy compels me to speak. But I don't really have anything "political" to say. Many people see the tragedy and don't know what to do, so they rail against the NRA and call for more stringent gun laws. The problem with their reactions is that the problem we face - the reason for tragedy and heartache - isn't a political issue at all. It isn't about laws and institutions. The problem is our own hearts. The problem is the fact that every single person's heart is full of wickedness, and we are in desperate need of a Redeemer.

The world sees the darkness and doesn't know what to do with it. Without God, the world tries to make sense of things by blaming the maker of the tool used to commit the murder and by creating more laws. But those things are ultimately empty. If a man's heart is set upon committing such a heinous crime, no amount of gun restrictions will stop him.

Without God, there is no hope.

And that's just the point of Christmas, isn't it?

Because Christmas has become such a cheerful holiday, we forget the darkness and horrible silence to which Jesus came when He was born. The nation of Israel had suffered four hundred years of silence from God. At the end of Malachi in the Old Testament - after their nation's history had been full of God communicating with them - God became completely silent. He had promised a deliverer, and that's all they could hold onto, because He didn't say anything to them for four hundred years. Four hundred years. Just take a minute to wrap your mind around that. ... How many generations must have passed that heard about God but nothing from God Himself?

Furthermore, by the time the book of Matthew opens up the New Testament, Israel has no king and is under the dominion of Rome. I imagine that most people felt hopeless when they thought of all God's promises. And God Himself steps into that darkness.

I try not to rail against the commercialism that our culture has brought to the Christmas season. I actually enjoy the decorations and feasts and music and parties and gift-giving. In an article on Relevant Magazine online called "In Defense of the Christmas Rush," Ellen Painter Dollar says, "The rush of days, the piles of presents, the trees and the food and the ornaments... and all the rest - these are not distractions but testimonies to the thing."

We can feel free to get excited about decorating and giving gifts because we have something to celebrate. But it's important to remember why God-come-to-earth is something worth celebrating. It's worth celebrating because of tragedies like the Sandy Hook shooting and the darkness from which we cannot rescue ourselves. It's worth celebrating because man's heart is full of hatred and rage and lust and greed and pride, and there's nothing we can do about it. God-come-to-earth is worth celebrating because, left to ourselves, we are enslaved to sin and darkness and heartache, and we are guilty of the vilest sins, worthy of God's wrath and deserving of everlasting punishment, and we can't do anything about it.

God-come-to-earth is worth celebrating because Jesus came - came as a baby and grew to be a man - and He took the punishment for our sins.

The Christ-child in the manger is worth celebrating because Jesus brought light to our darkness. But you won't see the light until you are convicted and convinced of the darkness.

Please understand, reader, I don't want to depress you on Christmas Eve. Not at all. But our joy in Christmas and our celebration can be so much deeper if we think about what it means that Jesus came to earth and rescued us from our brokenness.

So, as we grieve and pray for families who lost loved ones at Sandy Hook, let us not lose heart. The world will try to cope but ultimately has no hope to offer us. Let us then turn with ever-deepening gratitude that Jesus Christ, God's Son, has rescued us from deepest darkness and has invited us into His kingdom of light and life. It is true that we will grieve, but we also hope. We are broken and lost, but He is our Healer and Redeemer, and in Him there is hope in abundance.

Holy Sweet Potatoes, Batman!

A question I enjoy asking people every year around this time is what their favorite Thanksgiving dish is. It's fun to watch people when they talk about it, whether their favorite is stuffing or green bean casserole or cranberry sauce or the turkey. People rarely seem content with quick descriptions of those dishes. They usually tell me who makes it and how they've been making it for years and sometimes what's in it, little realizing how their eyes light up and their voices fill with relish as they talk.

For me, that dish is my Aunt Kathy's sweet potato casserole. Oh. Man. As a kid, I refused to eat it because I didn't think I liked sweet potatoes. But one year at the beginning of high school, someone got me to try a bite. My eyes were opened, and I haven't looked back since. The way Aunt Kathy makes it, this dish gets eaten up faster than pretty much any other food item on the table. And she doesn't mess with that marshmallow topping nonsense. The topping is pecans and brown sugar goodness all the way.

I'm seriously salivating right now, just thinking about it.

In a conversation with a friend the other day, I mentioned how much I was looking forward to Aunt Kathy's sweet potatoes. Her response was, "Lusting after that food already, huh?"

When she first said it, it seemed funny, so I just smiled and said, "Oh yeah! For weeks now." However, the more I thought about it, the more it just didn't sit right with me. Is excitement and anticipation of delicious food equal to unholy craving? Is the longing for Thanksgiving food - or any food - wrong? Is it sinful in any way? I don't want to dismiss the idea just because it might challenge the way I think about food. So let's think about it for a minute.

I know that gluttony is a sin, and the simple dictionary definition of that is eating excessively. But I don't know that it's the eating itself that offends God. It's the idolatry that lies in eating too much. The act of putting one's hope in food rather than in God, believing that food will satisfy the longings and soothe the aching of one's heart, the overindulgence in one of God's gifts that He pours on us to steward and enjoy. When I feel depressed or discouraged or bored, and I turn to food instead of God, seeking to fill my soul by filling my belly, that reveals idolatry. This kind of eating is not okay. It's not honoring to God.

But does that mean that we can't eat our fill of delicious food and enjoy it wholeheartedly? When Jesus fed the five thousand, the Gospel of Mark says that "They all ate and were satisfied" (6:42). A speaker at my church said that means that the people ate and were stuffed. They didn't just eat until they weren't hungry. They ate until they were completely full. Jesus gave them more food than they needed just to live. He gave them a feast.

The story of that miracle glorifies God, and we can glorify God by feasting and thanking Him for the bounty He gives us.

Last night I had a pre-Thanksgiving feast with some friends, and for dessert, we shared an amazingly rich chocolate pie. After my first bite, I smiled at my friend Beka and said, "Oh! This is praise Jesus food!" I say that often when I eat something delicious because I want praise to be my response when I enjoy food. God created taste and flavor. He gave us tastebuds, and He created food not only to sustain us but to delight us. It's true, we can deal with food sinfully, just as we can with anything else.

But our enjoyment of food can also be holy. When we eat food and delight in it and thank God for it, that is good. God delights in our delight in His gifts when it is ultimately delight in Him. So when I eat Aunt Kathy's sweet potato casserole tomorrow, I am going to eat it with joy and praise God for it. And I'm going to eat Thanksgiving dinner till I'm stuffed, and I won't feel one bit guilty. I will enjoy great food, because I have a great God who gives delicious gifts.

Thanks Before Giving

Reader, it has begun. It began weeks ago.

On a trip to Walmart last week, no sooner had I walked in the door than I heard Bing Crosby crooning Christmas tunes on the overhead speaker. Christmas decorations lined the shelves as I walked in, and the home and garden section looked like a pitiful forest of plastic pine trees guarded by a giant blow-up Santa. 

Really, Walmart? Really? I thought. November seriously just started. Must you forget about Thanksgiving? It gets me every year. Beside selling a few turkey stuffed animals wearing pilgrim hats and stocking up on giant turkeys in their meat section, Walmart completely skips over our nation's gratitude holiday.  But Walmart isn't the only culprit. If you watch your TV for any length of time, you are bound to see a Christmas-themed commercial from any number of stores. I actually saw some of those commercials before Halloween! And, I don't want to rant and rave, but it drives me crazy.

Don't get me wrong, reader. I love Christmas. I mean, I love Christmas. If you know me really well, you know that around Christmas time, I become like a seven-year-old who's eaten 10-too-many candy canes. I get giddy-excited about Christmas decorations and music and lights and food and sweaters and parties and giving presents and receiving presents and everything about it. I seriously love Christmas. I can't wait to listen to Bing Crosby's Christmas album and wear my green t-shirt with my red cardigan and start wearing a Santa hat around the house (and possibly out in public). In fact, I'm the one in my family who will get out the Christmas decorations and make sure they get put up the weekend after Thanksgiving. 

However, it has to be after Thanksgiving. I'm adamant about that. 

Some people don't care. I know a few people who put up Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving, and I'm well aware that a lot of people start listening to Christmas music long before the season officially begins. Not me. Some people might think that I'm too strict about it, that it's really not a big deal. And maybe for them it isn't a big deal. Maybe I'm too strict about something that doesn't matter that much. To me, it matters, for three reasons.

First, it's tradition. Thanksgiving is a national holiday and therefore is worth remembering. Our culture often says that traditions don't hold any value, but that's not true. Traditions really are worthwhile, and spending November to anticipate and celebrate Thanksgiving is important. December (and the last few days of November) belong to Santa. The rest of November belongs to the Thanksgiving turkey. Let's keep it that way.

Second, Walmart does not celebrate Christmas because of Jesus. Our culture doesn't look forward to December 25 as a celebration of the coming of the Savior of mankind. In the eyes of the world, Christmas season is the shopping season. Thanksgiving definitely isn't a shopping season, so of course Thanksgiving gets skipped over. As a Christian, I can celebrate the coming of Christ all year long. In fact I should. But I don't believe I can truly honor God by skipping over the holiday dedicated to being grateful for what He's given me. I don't want to be a Grinch or a Scrooge, but I don't want to be like the culture either.

Thirdly and most importantly in my mind, I'm convinced that there's something important, vital even, about taking a month to be thankful for what we have before we take a month to spend so much of our time and thoughts on the giving and getting of presents. Gratitude comes before presents. Thanks must come before giving. Because we have been given so much.

Giving to others is a wonderful thing (and I honestly have been excited about Christmas ever since September), but taking time to give thanks for what God has given me is what allows me to give to others in any kind of genuine way. Giving from the place of gratitude is far more soul-feeding, life-giving, and joy-producing than giving simply because it's that time of year.

A Response to "The Casual Vacancy"

J.K. Rowling tells stories masterfully.

When I read the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, I was utterly and delightfully hooked. With each following chapter and book, I grew to know and love the characters and the world of Harry Potter more and more. Most people I talk to experienced the same thing.

When I meet people who have not read the series, I recommend it eagerly and with the same joy that I would feel while introducing a friend to someone whom I knew they would marry someday. I get wrapped up in the story of Harry Potter and fall in love with it, just as everyone does when they read it. Rowling weaves a beautiful, moving story, full of such detail and color, depth and history that when I read them I feel as though I'm simply learning about a world that actually exists somewhere. (Don't worry - I don't actually think it's real. Sadly.)

The Harry Potter stories are marvelous. J.K. Rowling is a marvelous storyteller. But I'm not here to talk about the Harry Potter books (though, clearly, I could go on and on about them).

Understandably, when Rowling finished the Harry Potter series, she wanted to move on to something entirely different. I would too. With seven unspeakably successful children/teen books, she moved on to the next genre. She wouldn't be put in the children's-author box. No, sir.

Enter The Casual Vacancy.

Many Harry Potter fans are grown-ups now, so they greeted the news of Rowling's adult novel with joy and adulation. Of course. I was among them. When the book came out, I put a reservation on it at the local library, and I was number 81 on the waiting list. Yikes. Weeks later, the library sent me an email: my time had finally come.

And... I was disappointed. Not because the story was uninteresting or the characters were lacking in depth. Not at all. The story takes place in a town called Pagford in which a city councilman dies, leaving his council seat open and making room for small town politics and scandal to rear their ugly yet strangely interesting heads. I hate politics, but I found myself inexplicably interested in the story, interested in the characters of the small town and the fate of the open council seat. Because really, the fate of the council seat determines the fate of the town and its people. It's very much about the characters.

It only took me a few hours to get a hundred pages in to the 500-page novel. And I could have kept reading, finished it within a few days. But I didn't. I couldn't.

Don't get me wrong. I really wanted to finish it. But I surrendered it back to the library two weeks before I had to.

I chose to stop reading the book because, when you hear that it's Rowling's first novel for adults, you should understand that it's Rowling's first "adult" novel. It took only a few pages for harsh cursing to begin. And I don't mean the "Crucio" kind of cursing from Harry Potter, although it was excruciatingly painful to read. The language was harsh, and while I've heard that the f-bomb is less offensive and less-taboo in Britain than it is in the U.S., Rowling being a British writer, that doesn't make it any less offensive to me. Even excluding that word, the language of several characters was absolutely filthy.

Sadly, the language was not my main problem with the book. Again, I refer to the description of the book as "adult." I won't say that The Casual Vacancy sinks into the disturbingly pornographic detail that I've heard 50 Shades of Grey wallows in. But it's close enough. Sex is not the pervasive topic of the book, but it's prevalent enough that I didn't feel right about continuing to read it page after page.

Thus, my disappointment. Rowling has already proven to the world that an incredible story with compelling characters can be written and enjoyed without all of that nonsense polluting it. Does she think that just because a book is "for adults" it has to overflow with obscenities and sexual encounters? That it has to contain those things at all? Did she forget that a truly excellent writer can portray filthy characters and lives without making the audience feel filthy for reading it?

So, after reading almost one hundred pages, I took it back to the library. I knew at about page 30 that I had to return it, but I let myself read more and more because I didn't want to stop reading. I wanted to give Rowling a chance, and I wanted to find out what happened. I cared about the characters and the story because, like I said, J.K. Rowling is a great storyteller. But the filth continued, and I had to put it down - that's not what I need to put into my mind and heart.

J.K. Rowling set out, so I've heard, to write something completely different than the Harry Potter books. Sadly, she succeeded. Harry Potter is about a boy in a world of adventure and magic; The Casual Vacancy is about adults (and some kids) in a world that is anything but adventurous or magical. Harry follows the growth of that boy and his journey to save the world and the people he loves; Vacancy is about small town politics and scandal. Those differences are okay. Authors write worthwhile, excellent books about both settings, both kinds of worlds. But the other differences are what make me so disappointed and disheartened.

Harry Potter is "for children," and The Casual Vacancy is "for adults." In reality, I recommend the books about a boy wizard to everyone, adults more than children. I wouldn't recommend Rowling's new book to anyone.

The Harry Potter books, though they get darker as the series goes on, are clean and redemptive, ending with good triumphing over evil. From what I read of Rowling's new book, it begins and remains dark and sordid, filled with disgustingly vulgar language and inexcusably overt sexual references and descriptions.

The books about Harry Potter and his friends are about love and sacrifice, about friendship and loyalty, about life and death, and about doing the right thing in the face of enormous obstacles. On the other hand, I couldn't justify reading The Casual Vacancy long enough to find out what it was really about.

A Bathroom Mirror

I had an epiphany while in the bathroom at church the other day.

As I stepped out of the stall and to the sink, a little girl finished washing her hands. She was maybe eight, and she proceeded to dry her hands with a paper towel before throwing it in the trash. But instead of walking out of the bathroom right after that like I expected, she came back to stand in front of the bathroom mirror.

She stood there for a long moment, looking at herself and adjusting her hair and clothes. A twinge of sadness hit me as I stood next to her, washing my hands and watching her in my peripheral vision as she made sure she looked just right before going back out where everyone could see her.

Sad, I thought as she left, that a little girl should already be so concerned about her appearance. She's so young - she should be free from those kinds of cares. She should just enjoy life and see that deep-inside beauty (the beauty of patience and kindness, laughter and joy) matters way more than what-we-look-like beauty.

I dried my hands and threw the paper towel in the trash can. Then I stepped back in front of the mirror and stood there for a long moment, scrutinizing my clothes and hair. I pulled at my bangs and yanked at the hem of my blouse, a bit disappointed that my outfit didn't look quite as cute as I thought it did at home.

Then I stopped. I looked myself in the eye.

And I saw a little girl.

So I left my clothes and hair as they were. And I marched out of the bathroom to go laugh with my friends.

O Death

One of the beautiful truths of the Christian faith lies in these verses:

"'Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?'

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! 

He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."

-1 Corinthians 15:55-57 (NIV)

Because Jesus Christ died and rose again, conquering the grave, His children don't need to fear death, and we are no longer slaves to the death that is our sin. It's true that, unless Christ returns first, we will still die. But in every other way, Christians are free from the grave. Death holds no victory and brings no lasting bitterness. For the believer death means life. Jesus' death on the cross means eternal life for us, and our physical death means being ushered in to the presence of God, where we will know no more sickness or sinning or heartache or shame. Where we will see God. 

But... death is still a hard thing. A dreadful thing. A terrifying, heart-ripping, inescapable thing. When I read news or hear of people losing their precious ones to car accidents or cancer, miscarriages or old age, war or gang violence - it is a hard thing. Even if the person who died was a believer, we hurt, we grieve, we ask God why. I wept when my grandpa died, and when my other grandpa died, and when my grandmother died, though all of them loved the Lord. And, I'll be honest, if I found out I were dying soon, I would be filled with fear. And it would take an ocean's amount of God's grace to learn joy and trust in that, though I know it is possible. 

Though we know the truth of life - eternal life - death is a hard thing to face and to deal with. 

Reader, I'll let you in on a little secret. ... I am facing death. Not physical death (though God's plan could have me facing that at any time). No, the death that confronts and terrifies me is spiritual, mental, emotional. And it is daily, hourly, minute by minute. The death I'm talking about is what the Christian community calls "death to self."

What I am called to today, in this moment and tomorrow and the next day and every day after, is to die. My flesh, the old Emily who pursued sin and hated God and did everything for herself... she has to die, along with her wicked desires. Because life with the old Emily is death. She has to die so that the new Emily, the clothed-in-Christ's-righteousness Emily, can live and live abundantly.

"... if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; 

the old has gone, the new has come!"

-2 Corinthians 5:17 (NIV)

The new, in-Christ Emily is already a reality. But I can't live in this newness if old Emily is still alive and kicking. I have to kill her. Every day. Of course, I don't mean that I do myself any kind of physical harm. What I mean is that when my sinful heart draws me toward disobedience, I have to kill the old Emily and not disobey, no matter how much I want to. When I'm tempted to be impatient or angry or proud or lustful, I have to kill the old Emily and live according to Christ's strength and righteousness. I have to kill the old Emily.

That sounds a bit harsh, doesn't it? I mean, really? I have to kill her? I don't think we really grasp how harsh it actually is. Jesus said, "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full" (John 10:10 NIV). But He also said, 

"If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself 

and take up his cross daily and follow me. 

For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, 

but whoever loses his life for me will save it." 

-Luke 9:23-24

The cross, as much as we are used to it, is a symbol of death. Gruesome, torturous death. I don't know if you've seen The Passion of the Christ (or any other Jesus/gospel movie for that matter), but I can never stand to watch the crucifixion scene. Death on a cross is bloody and brutal. Yet this is the kind of spiritual death we're called to embrace every day. We're called to crucify our old selves. 

When temptation calls and I want to say "yes" to sin, I must crucify my flesh and say "no." When I crave attention or want credit for doing something good, I must crucify my flesh and remain content with obscurity. When I'm tempted toward impatience or anger or lust, I must crucify my flesh and act in patience, grace, and purity. And on and on. 

Sound impossible?

In our strength - that is, in our weakness - it is impossible. And I feel that impossibility. I don't want to kill my sinful desires. I don't want to take up my cross daily. I much prefer the ease of choosing sin. Just like physical death, daily spiritual death is difficult and painful. And I become discouraged because I do not often choose this death of my self for the sake of life in Christ. But these verses give me hope:

"For Christ's love compels us, because we are convinced 

that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, 

that those who live should no longer live for themselves 

but for Him who died for them and was raised again."

-2 Corinthians 5:14-15

Reader, in my strength it is impossible to die to my old self. But just as we possess eternal life through Christ Jesus and need not fear physical death, we also have death in Him and need not be enslaved to our old ways of living. In His strength, I put the old self to death so that I can enjoy fullness and abundance of life in Christ.

So in every way, in Christ, death means life.

I've Got a Song to Sing

September 22nd. The first official day of autumn.

Fall is by far my favorite season. Every year I delight in the leaves changing from green to red and orange and yellow then floating to the sidewalk for me to step on and crunch. I love pulling my sweaters and scarves out of the closet and wearing jeans every day and sipping apple cider and eating pumpkin-flavored everything. I feel most alive when I step outside and the air is cool and crisp and sweet.

My friend Millie, speaking of autumn beauty, once said, "Isn't it interesting that the world is most beautiful in October, when it's dying?" As much as I will marvel at their beauty as they begin to change colors, the leaves are all dying, aren't they? They die so that there can be new life in the spring. Death brings life. Sound familiar?

My younger brother and I share a particular appreciation for this day, September 22, because it's the title of a favorite song of ours. The artist is Nathan Angelo, and the chorus goes like this:

"If blood's flowin' through my veins,

there's air to breathe, life to live,

then I've got a song to sing on this normal day,

September 22nd."

It's a great song. If you want to listen to the whole thing (which I highly recommend, because it's awesome), here's a link to the song on youtube.

That song always gets me pumped up and cheerful. On a normal day like today, I have a song to sing for the simple fact that I'm alive. And in autumn, when I go outside and breathe in the crisp air, I really am thrilled to be alive. The leaves are dying their sacrificial death, and it's beautiful, and I'm alive, and that's beautiful too. It's usually on the lovely days like today that I remember that life is full of goodness and delight.

But what about in the dreary middle of winter, when the trees stand bare, the cold bites, and the sunshine hides behind clouds for weeks? What about in the blazing middle of summer when the sun scorches, the humidity stifles, and the mosquitoes attack with a vengeance? What about on miserably rainy days? Am I grateful to be alive then? Do I sing then? It's not that I don't love all seasons or that I hate rain. Not at all. But the world isn't always beautiful, and neither are the circumstances of my life. I have to be honest, reader, there have been many, many days when the fact that I'm alive has not been nearly enough to make me sing. Not even close.

So... what else is there? On some days the leaves are beautiful, and I'm happy to be breathing. But then the weather changes, and so do my circumstances. Both of them pass by in ever-changing seasons. There must be more, and the Good News is that there is more.

I have reason to sing because I know the One who keeps the blood pumping through my veins and the air flowing in and out of my lungs. I have reason to sing because I know the One who will decide when the blood will stop flowing and my body will stop breathing. And I can delight in the beautiful red hues of dying autumn trees because I know the One who created them, and I know the One who shed His own blood and died on a tree so that I could have life in Him.

A Very Good Place to Start

Since graduating with a degree in English literature almost a year and a half ago, I've struggled to maintain discipline in my writing. And by "I've struggled" I mean I've failed miserably. I'm no Annie Dillard or Henry David Thoreau, who hide themselves away from the world and tinker and strain with words for hours and days and weeks on end. First of all, I'm an extreme extrovert, so seclusion for even one day depresses me. Secondly, I am easily distracted, and, let's be honest, writing takes a serious amount of dedication and focus and editing and editing and editing. As a result, I have two, maybe three, small-ish writing projects to show for the last sixteen months of my life (one of which is a collaborative story about a little brown duck named Reggie. Awesome, right?).

Graduation from college means freedom from assignments, but that freedom, at least for a writer, means you have to come up with your own structure and discipline. Thus, a blog.

I've actually toyed for months with the idea of writing one: "Maybe I should write a blog... No, I won't write a blog. Everyone is writing a blog! How would mine be different than anyone else's? What if people don't read it? What if people do read it? And what in the world would I write about anyway?"

You see my reluctance. I realized recently, though, that whether or not people read it, I need something that will help me to write regularly. (That is, write regularly without having to be alone in a cabin in the woods for weeks on end.) Ultimately, it doesn't matter if no one reads my writing. Don't get me wrong, reader -- whoever you are, I want to serve you well. I hope I entertain you and challenge you too. But I think this will be a challenge for me more than anything else. Writing is easy. Writing with consistency and excellence for God's glory is not. And that is what I'll be straining to do, no matter who reads it.

So I'm not too worried about those months that I didn't write. I'm writing now.