My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Not Stepping on the Gas
While its implications are wide-ranging, it is surprising how simple was the confession of faith made by that eunuch to whom Philip brought the Gospel: Jesus is son of God. That was it. It encompassed everything and without it all else he might have said would have been insignificant. Of course, the eunuch's initial act of believing was in the stranger running alongside his car, looking in the window and asking what was going on. Were Philip to have done so, to most of us the answer would have been stepping on the gas.
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