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.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Impossible Standards
So many seem so attached to such a cruel God, a God who will sooner or later get even with those unable to live up to the impossible standard they say he demands; and as they begin to, as they near what they think he may want, the standard is raised and the penalty is not lessened. You might wonder why they named him God.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment