Suffering and the goodness of God?

How can a good God stand by and permit suffering?  If God is love, then how is it that children are abused, molested and raped?  If God is all powerful, why did he allow “x” to occur?  These are some of the toughest questions we can ask or be asked because the answers are equally tough.

Many questions may be answered quite easily.  Should I read the Bible?  Yes.  Can God forgive me for aborting my child?  Yes.  Should I honor my parents?  Yes.  And the list goes on.

Other questions aren’t so easy, but are still quite simple.  What is God’s will for my life?  His will is that you be saved by faith in Jesus Christ, be Spirit-filled, and be sanctified.  Now, these three things are stated quite simply, but lived out only with difficulty.

Let’s try an even tougher question or scenario.  A man asks an elder why his marriage is in turmoil.  The answer is quite clear to the elder: your marriage is in shambles because you have abdicated your role as spiritual leader in your family and are indulging in sinful practices.  This answer is indeed true, but if not spoken in an attitude and expression of love, then the man may embrace open rebellion, or resentment, or anger, hatred and bitterness.  And so we find that not only is the question’s answer tough, one must also be deeply discerning and Spirit-led in presenting a response.

Now let’s return to the top of the page with a more difficult counseling situation.  A young man has begun attending a small congregation of believers.  He has been developing friendships with some of the men.  One night, after finishing a meal in one of the men’s homes, he looks as though he bears some great weight.  The man of the house asks the younger man what’s on his mind.  The young man begins to speak of his childhood.  And as he tells the following story he becomes increasing agitated and tearful until he ends with shouted questions as he smashes a plate with his fist:

“My father used to beat me as a kid.  At first it wasn’t too bad, he’d just spank us some or whatever.  Then he started gettin stuff like his belt or a golf club, you know, whatever was closest to grab.  He would even make me and my little sister stand in the livin room and he’d throw his empty cans and bottles at us for fun.  I also remember him hittin my momma a bunch and yellin all the time.  When he’d take us to church he’d always lie about how we got our cuts and bruises.  And he always used to smile a whole lot and shake hands real big with other fellas and it never made any sense to me.  I used to pray to God that he’d make it all better, but he never did.  

It’s been thirteen years now since I saw him.  The last night I saw him, he had just finished beatin my mom.  He hurt her so bad that she can’t see no more in her left eye and can’t talk no more because he crushed her throat choking her.  He dropped her when she passed out and  that’s what saved her from being killed.  Then he went into his room with his bottle.  I heard a gun shot and that’s the last I saw him.  

And now I’ve been here with you guys for a few months; they said Jesus was the answer, so I came.  And here all of you are singing and living on like everything is great and wonderful!  You talk about God’s love and grace and all this stuff.  But what the hell do you know?  It ain’t fair!  What did me and my sister ever do?  What did my momma ever do to wind up like this?  How come God let all that happen?  How come he let my old man get away with it all?  Why did God let him pull the trigger without me ever being big enough to hit him and spit in his face?  How come I never got to make him bleed and fear and hurt like he did us?  If God is who you say, then HOW THE HELL DID HE LET THIS HAPPEN?  WHERE WAS GOD WHEN I NEEDED HIM?!?!”

How do you answer these questions?  How do you help this man?  Or the girl who was abducted from her freshman dorm parking lot and raped in the back of a van?  Or the woman who was molested as a child?  How do you even begin to answer these people’s questions?

Wrong way:

I can come out with doctrinal, theological guns blazing, firing off truth left, right, and center.  I could ask this man who he thinks he is to require of God an explanation.  I could tell this young man that his perspective is obviously wrong.  I could ask him who he thinks he is to accuse God of wrong.  I could say a thousand things that would be theologically correct and absolutely wrong, even sinful, of me to say in that moment of his anguish.

A better way:

He has just smashed a plate and his fist is bleeding.  My wife is a lovely daughter of God who happened to have been abused as a child.  I look over to my wife and she is teary-eyed and smiling.  I ask her please, to go grab a bandage and a glass of iced water.  And as she is out of the room I look at my friend and wait for him to finish weeping as I pray that the Spirit would guide my tongue now as much as he ever has done.  He finally looks up at me, his eyes still screaming, “Why!”  My wife returns and he reluctantly allows her to bandage his hand.  He sips the water and is now calming down.  I say very honestly to him that I don’t fully know what it’s like to have been through anything like that.  I tell him that my wife was abused by her father when she was young and the man lifts his eyes to meet her gaze.  It is a piercing, a fierce and loving look in her eyes.  And his face softens ever so slightly.  He looks back to me.  I say quite naturally that there are things in this world that are terrible, that should never happen.  And I admit that I really don’t understand a lot when it comes to answering questions like this.  I tell him that I truly hate that he has suffered in this way.  

And as I am speaking I remember the night my wife, then girlfriend, told me of what her father had done.  I remember the violent hatred that coursed through my veins.  I remember how it took years for my hatred of her father to turn to compassion and forgiveness and even love.  I remember how the thing that was pivotal for me was coming to see Christ clearly.  I remember learning how I had lived so many years of my life thinking that I was the penultimate.  I remember learning that God’s glory was a big deal and that it was central to who he is.  I remember the first time I perceived sin in a way that was even infinitesimally similar to how Christ and God regard sin.  

I recall all these things in a fraction of a second.  And as I look at this man before me I think of all the things I could say to him.  I think to myself that this young man doesn’t understand sin.  He doesn’t really understand the Gospel.  I think that he believes God owes him something; he believes he deserves good things and nothing bad should come to him.  And I dismiss all these thoughts as quickly as they emerge because I know that in this moment he needs merciful truth, he needs kind truth, he needs compassionate truth.  He does not need righteous indignation.  He does not need me to correct his egocentric views with my pharisaical doctrine.

I clear my throat.  I’ve had enough experience in my life with saying the wrong thing or saying the right thing in the wrong way, thus making it entirely wrong.  I open my mouth and say that I love him.  I’m honest with him and admit that it’s tough to swallow the things our congregational family holds to be true about God and Christ and Scripture and suffering.  I tell him that even though it may mean little or nothing for me to tell him that I love him, it is true nonetheless.  I tell him that I’m glad he’s angry.  I tell him that I’m glad he is screaming and demanding answers instead of numbing and drowning himself in alcohol as I once did.  I tell him that if he would like to, that I would love to spend even more time with him and have him in my home even more.  I commit to him that I will walk by his side as long as he is under this cloud of darkness and doubt.  I tell him that I will introduce him to some of the other people in our church who have been victims and have unjustly suffered at the hands of evil men.  I tell him that I will share with him what little I have learned from Scripture and that I will study to learn even more for the sake of helping him.  I tell him that I count every plate he smashes in my home as a blessing, a gift of his raw, honest and sincere heart to me, when so many others have hidden themselves and slowly killed their own hearts.

I ask if he would mind if I prayed just now.  He nods his head and so I pray as honest and un-preaching a prayer as I know how; it’s a short prayer, but it’s real.  And then I ask if he would like some ice cream and brownies.  My wife has been smiling this whole time and rises to go prepare the dessert.  The young man begins to fumble out an apology and expresses that he’ll replace the plate.  I kindly cut him short and ask him to follow me; I have something I’d like to show him. 

We go upstairs into the master bathroom and I pull back a painting to reveal a large hole in the wall.  I step to the other wall and do the same thing, revealing another hole.  He looks a little puzzled.  I tell him that real life comes out one way or another and that the holes in the wall will remain to the end as a reminder of just how tough questions can get.  He looks at my fist to see if there are any scars.  I shake my head and smile.  His look is puzzled once more.  I tell him that it was my wife’s fists who made these holes and not my own.  I tell him that the only way I survived alcoholism was because of God’s mercy through her.  Her horrific childhood made her tough, but it also made her fiercely tender.  She understood my sin long before I did.  It was her anger at sin and it’s offense to God, and not anger at me or even at her father, that put those two holes in our walls.  I’m not saying we should go around putting holes in walls or breaking plates, but sometimes, in this Christian life, things aren’t always what we think or would like to think.  

If she hadn’t endured what she had as a young girl, I would likely be dead and would likely have killed others in the process.  I can’t erase what your father did.  I can’t give you some catchy mantra to chant in front of a mirror to make it all better.  I can say that my wife endured something horrid so that later she could save my life.  And I can tell you that right now she is downstairs thanking God that she knows what you went through and that she can tell you you’re not alone and God can heal you.  And tonight as she and I fall asleep, she will thank the Father that he brought her through all that so that years later she would know exactly how to pray for you.  I tell him that I don’t know “Why God,” but that someday, he may find himself in my wife’s shoes, able to help someone else who has been hurt and suffered just as he.

We go back downstairs.  My wife has just set the dessert out.  He takes a bite of brownie and ice cream, smiles, and comments that it’s probably the sweetest a brownie has ever tasted.  After we finish, I send him home to rest.  The next day I call him to see how he’s is doing.

The way you answer these questions is to go from acquaintance to friendship and then from friendship to brotherhood and sisterhood.  You spend hours in prayer, on your knees, before the throne.  You search the Scriptures and beg the Spirit to give you wisdom.  You pray fervently for the salvation and healing of your brother or sister.  You commit to working just as hard as they do in seeking the face of the Lord.

Why does God permit suffering?  God permits suffering because he IS GOOD and he IS LOVING.  God allows and ordains great tragedy so that we may begin to understand how terrible sin is and how great an affront it is to his holiness and glory.

God is sovereign and God is love.  This is how we begin to seek the answers to the tough questions.  We humble ourselves under the hand of the Lord, that in his good timing we may be lifted up to understand more of his ways.

nothing to write.

i haven’t written in a few days.  i’ve been under the weather with some sinus junk. but it’s kept me in a pattern of thinking about what things i find contentment and satisfaction in and through. i haven’t run in a few days and it’s been such beautiful weather. 

last week i grabbed a book off of the shelf that had been gathering dust for a few years; it’s entitled The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment. the idea is simple enough: Christians ought to find complete satisfaction in God alone. yet as simple as the idea is, it’s practice is no easy thing.

in the last week i have had to deal with not finding satisfaction in friends and family. i’ve also taken a more level approach at dealing with being sick and actually being sick instead of going full-bore as is my normal approach to things.

i feel as if i’ve nothing profound to say at the moment; i just want to write. this morning i awoke at 5:00 without the aid of an alarm. i got up and put the coffee on and nestled in with the Good Book. i read through a number of passages, some more familiar than others, and wasn’t struck by any great or new revelation, but there was a certain profundity to the enjoyment of the experience. i had my coffee and some lamplight and some mozart and after about an hour or so i also had the first notes of the morning’s birdsongs. and it seemed to fit with one of the comments made in The Rare Jewel, that one should seek to have his desires align with his circumstances.

the idea is that a poor man ought not stake his contentment on the prospect of eventual riches, but rather should stake his contentment in his current estate. it’s a simple idea: be happy where you’re at and do not be unhappy because of where you are not.

this morning i was by the window. and i was happy to be there with nothing but contentment to enjoy. there is a trap though; do not be merely content with the circumstances through the means of positive thinking or any other self-help mantra. rather, be content in the fact that a sovereign and loving Father has ordained that you be in such a circumstance as you are and be pleased with the truth that he knows how to order things perfectly. as Mueller founded his life, so should we, trusting that the Father withholds no good thing from his children as they walk uprightly in Christ.

perhaps i did have something to write about.

maybe i’ll wake at 5:00 again tomorrow and see what happens...

fishbowl fellowship.

another boring day at the salt mines. that’s what my Papa always calls the place i work. i’ll stop by my Nana and Papa’s house after work in the evenings occasionally and he’ll ask how the salt mine was that day. it’s one of the myriad sayings he has stored up. i hope i’ll remember them all when he has gone home.

some of you may be aware that i am in a chinese philosophy class this semester. this week we had a long discussion about the golden vs. the silver rule. it was disappointing in the sense that my buddy and i backed the professor into a corner on a position he could not logically defend and though his expression acknowledged his position, he would not relent. anyway, the silver rule is thus: “do not impose on others what you yourself do not want” (Kongzi, Analects 15.24). and if you do not directly recall the golden rule, here it is: “whatever you wish others would do to you, do also to them” (Jesus, Matthew 7.12). and without giving you the entirety of the discussion, the conclusion we proposed to the professor was that each rule does not eliminate the possibility of selfish action or even the necessity of the self. we also stated that the rules are each the reverse side of the same coin. my point was that to refrain from doing bad is to do good (silver rule) and to only do good unto others is to refrain from wrong (golden rule). the professor, along with his assertion that the silver rule excluded selfish behavior, tried also to state some neutral, middle ground that was free of good, bad, or self; my friend and i disagreed.

i state that to abstain from all malevolence necessarily means promoting goodness. and promoting goodness means that malevolence must be removed. it seems redundant because it is. fullness of good means absence of malice, regardless of which side of the coin you consider, it is still a coin that represents harmony.

well, thinking on these things reminded me of Philippians 2.3-4: “Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.  Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.”  and on considering these two sentences i couldn’t help but consider the contrast between true New Testament fellowship (holding all thing as common and breaking bread together and sharing life) with what so many “churches” peddle today as the Christian life. show up Sunday and Wednesday, etc. 

lately, in our little family of believers, we have discussed much the importance of true covenant life and fellowship. and that always makes me think of these words of Paul. one pivotal point in this command is that you cannot consider interests you do not know. how can you put others first who are only pew #5 attendees?

and my next thought was how shallow fellowship can become. oddly, or perhaps quite sensibly, enough, my next thought was of a little glass fishbowl. there is no depth to a fishbowl. it’s shallow. transparent, yet not in the good way. it’s fragile, easily broken. what’s worse is that the only thing that can inhabit one of those little fishbowls is either a little goldfish that soon will die or one of those beta fish that are unintelligent enough to beat themselves senseless or dead if placed beside a mirror. contrast that to the depths of the oceans. the unknown regions deep beyond the reach of the sun’s rays. and consider the creatures that live in the ocean’s vastness. tuna. squid. sharks. whales. incredible.

so what happens to Christ’s bride when kept in a fishbowl. death. infighting and turmoil. sure, it makes a pretty presentation and display, but it prevents anything great or deep or majestic.

pick the analogy apart if you will. i do not mind.

but let me not trap myself in a fishbowl, though it be a comfortable and “safe’ place.

no fishbowl fellowship.

give me the deep and the dangerous even if the current is too strong for me.

i’ve known and am learning just how great my weakness is.

saw parts.

i’m terribly bored at work today. but fortunately i have been saved from improper thinking. at least i think i have. today i received a package. it was a cylinder assembly and piston for rebuilding the engine of my chainsaw.

it’s a saw with a story. i was a dork in high school. i liked girls. girls didn’t like me. i went to college and found a girl i really liked and to my great surprise, she liked me, too! we dated for two semesters. then she broke up with me. i was devastated. so i consoled myself with the purchase of the largest chainsaw available in the area. 75cc engine. it could do some work. it served me well for years. but as with most engines, it gave out last summer.

well, today the transplant arrived and i hope that tonight the surgery is successful and Frankenstein rises. oh, did i mention that the replacement cylinder is a bit larger; that means more horsepower.

dad and i are going to work on it. my dad and i are a lot alike and also quite different. we’ve never been super close because it’s not in either of our personalities to be great at being open and communicating what goes on behind our eyes. we can both articulate ideas well and have rather a natural gift for teaching, but we’re both great at bottling our emotions. i never “blow up” i just bear it. very unhealthy.

it’s funny, but one of the parts i ordered for the saw is a compression release valve that makes the engine easier to crank. i’ve come close to having compression releases: running, alcohol, reading, etc. none of them have ever been perfect. never has the pressure been fully released.

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Matthew 11.28-30

and there it is. the release. it’s hard to learn to release. it’s hard to give up the load, the burden, that seems to be such an integral part of me. i’m so good at making burdens out of promises like this one that are meant to free us. 

i want to feel the release. i want to be free of the pressure i create within.

you release the pressure so the engine cranks more easily. once started, the engine is continually containing tiny explosions that create pressure that cause the saw to do work. hmmm..... explosions and pressure harnessed in order to accomplish good, productive work and labor.

perhaps, at times, the inner pressure could be a good thing.

who knows?

He knows.

thinking.

i think too much. or maybe i don't think enough. nope, neither, i simply do not always think properly. that seems closer to the truth. according to those who know me well, i am intense. they would probably say that holds true for all aspects of my life. i'm generally all or nothing. even in my thought life i operate on a rather intense level. sometimes this is good when i think properly, but bad when improper thought reigns.

how do i know if i'm thinking properly? "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Philippians 4.8 well Paul just answered my question. but, what if i'm one of those people incessantly questioning? what if i want to have definitions and clarifications and such? i can easily paralasize myself (analysis paralysis). i think about something so much that i bring myself to an inward stalemate of inactivity.

we know what Paul means. think about the Gospel. think about Christ. think about the Church. Christ is true. to be abased by the Gospel is honorable. to see Christ hang upon the cross is to see justice satisfied. to see Christ's bride is lovely. for men to endure hardship, trial and suffering is commendable indeed. to behold the glory of God in the image of Christ is a vision of highest excellence. and to see the Lord enthroned on high draws us to praise Him, "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God almighty!"

i think about such worthless things. my computer was going out on me and it consumed much of my thought for days. drama at one of my numerous jobs gets in my head and i let it remain. i'm such a fool to be harassed by such infinitesimal trivialities when i could be satiated with thoughts beyond language!

for many years i was convinced of my own humble and modest greatness. what a fetid waste! but lately Christ has gently shown me the great mire i had pleasurably chosen to indwell. oh what folly is the wisdom of men.

do you think what you think you think? often i do not. do you?

repent and believe.

the Gospel is simple. simple, yet impossible. we cannot repent if the Spirit does not quicken us to life. i have a simple tattoo on my left wrist; it is a reminder to me to leave my life in the hands of Christ. unfortunately, i take my life back far too often, or attempt to and deceive myself that i have taken my life into my own hands. lately i've been wanting another tattoo. my close brother, in advising me on tattoos, said that you shouldn't get one until you feel like that patch of skin is missing something. well, i feel like the reminder i have is missing its sister. my right wrist is longing to be like its brother. and there is a reason my right wrist is empty: it's quite a conspicuous location as it never holds a watch. if the cuffs aren't buttoned, then the right wrist is bared.

the companion ink would again be something Christ said. it would be the Gospel in it's clearest presentation. repent and believe.

jonah was told to spread that message, yet he refused. jonah listened, but he did not hear. all too often i listen without hearing. i am like the man who looks intently at his face in the mirror and then forgets what he looks like. how often my hearing is just listening, void of doing. more often than not, my faith is like one of the many books i've acquired only to look impressive filling shelf space.

i don't want that to be a common theme for me. i want to be one who takes the message instead of one who takes a holiday in the belly of the sea. maybe the companion ink would be a good reminder that i've been given a charge to take to the world.

takers. leavers. in a previous post i likened leavers to beLeavers. but maybe i should spin words and also be wise to recall that we are also, as beLeavers, called to take a message of salvation to the world.

life is simple, but it certainly isn't easy.

justice vs. mercy.

it saddens me to think of all the times that i've sung of God's mercy, yet i live as if justice is His only attitude towards us. i'm tempted, i sin, i agree with the Word that i have sinned, and then i beat myself up as if justice is what must occur.

sometimes justice is what must prevail. sometimes it is mercy that reigns victorious (i speak in regards to daily living of the believer, not in an eternal sense). i've recently found myself expecting justice and having no regard for the chance of mercy.

The Spirit corrected me monday night whilst driving to the coffee house. i had lied to myself. i was convinced that it was a shameful thing to ask for mercy when you knew you were guilty. but that's just it, you can ONLY ask for mercy when you are guilty. an innocent man does not ask for mercy, he asks for truth.

so yes, i am guilty. yes, i deserve justice. but, O LORD, give me mercy.

i am reminded of two passages that have been dear to me for many years. the first is the prodigal's return. he knew his father was merciful, yet was planning on justice, to work off his guilt. but the father, full of mercy, would let the son utter not a word beyond his confession of guilt.



the second is like it:
"But the tax collector, standing far off, would not lift up even his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, 'God, be merciful to me, a sinner!'"  Luke 18:13.  this man went home with the mercy he sought.

how often i foolishly confine mercy to talk of salvation alone. mercy is as much a part of sanctification as it is salvation. for we still stumble along this way. we still fall short. but why would we expect that justice is our lot now, when Christ has already shown the greatest mercy? fool am i.

in a court of law, justice must prevail.

in the throne room i seek mercy.

for the King is enthroned to show mercy to whom He will show mercy.

the great horde.

What are enemies? We Americans, we southeastern, Christian Americans, know little of enemies.  I cannot venture to say I have ever had an enemy.  Thus I have uncovered yet another barrier that has in past prevented me from beholding the fullness of scripture.  David's pleas to God for deliverance from enemies have had little meaning to me.  And yet in the same breath I can state that "O Yes, I know that now the enemies of the Christian and the Church are not ethnic or geographic, but spiritual. O Yes, this I know."  But do I?

"O our God, will you not execute judgment on them?  For we are powerless against this great horde that is coming against us.  We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on You."  2 Chronicles 20:12

Sibbes has recently shown me that I am likely not the only Christian who has an improper assessment of the power of our spiritual enemies and our powerlessness against them.  I am lacking in victory because I still rely on some strength I think is my own.  Yet have I not read that Christ is my strength and that victory belongs not to me, but to the LORD?

How foolish I am to remain defeated by the great horde of temptations, trials, allurements, snares, etc. that this world rallies against me under the direction of its defeated prince!  If God's grace is sufficient to save me from the hell of death, then are not His graces also sufficient to rescue me from this great horde that would devour me along the way of my journey to the heavenly Jerusalem?

Pain.

Pain. Not physical pain. Emotional. Spiritual. Oppressive weight of sin.

I teach high school kids and there are times that you can see the pain in their eyes. And stupid lines of professionalism and law prevent us. Prevent us from helping.

I had two friends who worked for DEFACS for a while. An organization whose role it was to help families, yet due to their regulations, they often did greater harm than good.

I sit here right now and the government that claims to care for the kids has pinned my hands behind my back so that I cannot help.

Or am I helpless? Sitting watching a girl cry who thinks she is unnoticed. I may not be able to move in her direction, but I can certainly move towards Father. I see her tears and so does He. I may have guesses about her pain, but He knows for certain.

I still want to scream out, though. I want to take her pain on myself, even if only for one moment. To let her know that others carry it with her.

Bones are easy to set in place. Itchy throats are easy to soothe. How do we mend broken souls? How do you administer healing to the inner man? I know that Christ does it, but when I’m told not to speak of Him, what do I do? I must plead with Him to set all things right and to restore His people to Father.

Restore us. Set these pains right. Give us the strength and grace to endure this momentary suffering.

Pain. Without it we would not know healing. No dawn can blaze forth when no darkness has come before.

Help us endure the darkness until the Sunrise.

Kongzi and Jesus

Would they have gotten along? I bet they would have been buddies. Heretical to speculate such? I don't think so, after all, Jesus was a friend of sinners. And the reality of it is that Kongzi probably, no, certainly, lived out the social implications of scriptural teachings. He lived a good bit before Jesus, but anyway.

I really want to say something about family or at least pose some questions. How do I show filial piety when I do not understand how? Or when I do not want to show it? I do not consider myself an exemplary person and doubt I ever shall. I would like it to be said that I have done my utmost. I know that cannot be said of me currently. I feel as Bilbo when he likened himself to too little butter spread over too much bread. I barely have the energy to think at certain moments of the day.

Today I have been thinking a fair amount about what Kongzi had to say about virtue and self and authoritative conduct. I drove to work in the rain and along the way thought to myself that the only way I would accomplish the needful things of this day should be if God grants the grace and energy to do those things. Right now I should be writing my third essay of the day, but I just don't have the brain energy to devote to the task right now. I will be needing an afternoon coffee in a pretty fierce way! But really, if there are things that I do not accomplish today, were they really things that "needed" to be done? Surely, as Father's son I should be striving to do my utmost in all things and if something remains unfinished then perhaps it is because I did not my utmost.

Which makes me think of Chambers' work, My Utmost For His Highest. But it only just makes me think of it, without anything weighty to convey. I feel myself spiraling into academic oblivion or at least he last thirty minutes of the school day before I leave for the University.

I can feel my brain. It's soft and squishy, like a stress ball. Perhaps I should squeeze my brain more often.

I apologize to anyone who has had the misfortune, or mental disorder, to read this far.

Better luck next time.

Jesus, though perhaps not his Savior, would have had some good conversations with Kongzi.