In the beginning was the word.

And what word can I say that will make this project valuable? Perhaps I can call this a thought experiment, a working out of the things that plague and percolate through my brain, a distillation of chaos into clarity. I hope to find wisdom as I sort through the mess, to separate and pin down the conclusions that escape me. To actually speak what matters and to discern it at the same time so that I can stop endlessly chasing my tail and avoid the peaks and troughs that come with a busy and boring family schedule.

As I begin to write, I find myself in a season of audio. Podcasts, audiobooks, lectures and sermons fill my days with histories, stories, current events, theology, and more often than not, maddeningly stupid banter en route to the juicy discussions! The audiobook du jour in 2019 is Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos, and having just finished all 15 hours of this compendium of psychology, timeless truths, political incorrectness and freedom of speech, I confess that Peterson’s final coda inspired my title “Pen of Light”. He uses a literal pen with built in LED lights to aid in writing in the dark, to challenge himself and his readers metaphorically – “What shall I write with my pen of light?”.

Light is what I intend to write. There couldn’t be anything more appropriate. Discerning the truth of things is my passion. I listen to it, read it, argue about it, ponder it and try very poorly to act it out. Yet I have never written about it. It has been difficult to even consider beginning – who would read it? Why would I want anyone to read it? What possible value could the thoughts of a flawed individual have to another individual? Can the uniqueness of my situation possibly speak meaningfully into another’s? Is that even appropriate? Can wisdom be transmitted or accepted outside of a contextual relationship? Who’s to say I have wisdom to share? What happens when my view clashes strongly with accepted norms?

All this to say I could argue for or against anything you wish. But if I can transmit light into dark places, whether those places are simply the dark corners of my conscience or the corridors of someone else’s tragedy, illuminated by my own, then that may after all be worth it. What shall I write with my pen of light?

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