2026-02-28
"It is written that man will not live by bread alone, but by every word from the mouth of God."
Life has been good lately, but I still deal with fear. It's not an irrational fear, but what I think is a healthy one. I think it's important, especially in times of blessing, to maintain a fear of the Lord. Just as He gives, He can take it away. I don't want to say that I think there's some kind of imminent danger or punishment in the near future. While I know that my sinful behavior will be corrected, I don't think that I'm going to see some kind of direct punishment for it. Besides, this fear of the Lord doesn't come from a place of fear of punishment, but a deep reverence for His power and understanding.
If anything, I want this fear to be a constant measure of humility. I know that compared to the essence of God, I have not even the faintest understanding of what's going on in my life, the world, or anything metaphysically beyond that. I know that all I am is a vessel, an agent of God's divine and perfect will expressing itself through these words you see here. That's not to say that I am some kind of divine being, but just that I'm like everyone else: a human made in God's image. There's a deep and profound mystery happening all around us, but it's up to us whether we want to observe it.

Typically, I don't discuss the news or anything like that because I don't pose myself as any kind of commentator, especially regarding the specifics of political discourse. The acts of war that happened in Iran today, for a deep and strange reason, don't make me feel any kind of way about it. I saw a video of an all-girls' school get bombed. The desperation of the parents was otherworldly; their cries were ones that came from the deepest source I could imagine. It put me in a state of disbelief, that something so horrible and tragic could be part of God's good and perfect plan.
More than that, I am almost ashamed that I couldn't muster any kind of visceral emotional response from it, that I feel so far removed from what's happening over there. It makes me wonder how I'd fare if something like that happened in my hometown. How would I respond to something like that? Would I fight back? Would I flee? What would I give up? I'm fortunate enough to have never confronted that kind of reality, but just knowing that for whatever reason I might gives me goosebumps like no other.
A few days ago I spoke on empathetic detachment and how I use that to keep myself safe under cognitive warfare. Whether we want to admit it or not, the American citizenry is fighting this war too, just on a different front. Our perception is constantly in conflict with forces that want to keep us outraged and disposed so that we don't try to build forces that could compete with prevailing narratives. It makes me ask myself what I should be doing, how I should be feeling. It makes me wonder what I even can do.
All I can think of is to write.

People take certain tragedies and put out "thoughts and prayers," which to many is the same as doing nothing. Ultimately, I alone am not in control of the affairs of politicians or the military or the industries that fund them. But here's what I do know: Christ is the only one who reigns over all of it. I might not be able to get the president on the phone, but I do have the ability to directly access God whenever I want, tell Him everything on my mind, and garner some kind of response. Whether it's a response that I intend for is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is that I reach out and put my heart before Him, let Him know how I feel, and ask for His mercy and grace.
The sins of the world can place a heavy weight on my heart, but I know that in spite of the wretched horrors that come from everywhere, there is a way through. If someone wants to call that a "cope," that's fine with me. I know that they are dealing with the same insecurity, and all I can hope for is a way they can find comfort in their own lives. We all face God at some point, but it's our decision whether we turn our backs on Him.
I'm not turning back.
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