18 September 2005 - 4:14 p.m.

What a real Christian is

So this is where it gets tricky. It occasionally enters my head, the thought that I might not be a "real" Christian, whatever I may mean by that. And I know that no faith is a perfect faith. But still it is something that I am commanded to work out.

I question my motivations. What is it that defines me? It is not Asperger's. It is not occupation, race, or what football team I support. It is the fact that I am in God's kingdom for eternity. I heard the gospel and believed long before the interest had anything to do with it. But now I wonder whether everything I do isn't just an attempt to impress her. Do I really want to bother with a job? Is it God's will that I approach strangers and tell them the good news? I think so.

Why did I find the determination to get my licence against the odds? And why am I not celebrating it loudly, besides? If she were to just disappear, would I still bother with job, car, and faith? I think so.

Why do I keep giving so much money to an organisation that keeps publishing thoughts that sadden me? The Devines and the Akermans give a thorough diagnosis and the Jensens have the only remedy, but why can the two not work together? Would the counsel not accept me if they knew I thought like this? Am I afraid to be seen as too controversial to my multigenerational Jensenite peers?

It boils down to truth. I know the truth, so how can I convince myself or something that is not true, even if I wanted to? One truth is, of course, infinitely greater than the other. One is unshakable, the other is subject to human error. They are both truth, nonetheless. So I choose to remain true. On the one, forever. On the other, for now.

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