These days, friends, I feel like there’s not much to say. There is always life, of course, and the daily comings-in and goings-out that are its building blocks, but nothing that I feel like I can really write about. Which makes me wonder if I am any writer at all, but I guess I am too busy actually living to thin about living.
I just finished Eric Metaxas’s giant biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, which has had me thinking about martyrdom and discipleship, and how we’re all called to die for Jesus somehow, even if that death takes 70 years. And that’s all I’m learning to do these days. So if things are quiet around here (and I’m honestly not sure who even reads anymore), that’s where I am.