Will there be writing in Heaven? On the new Earth? Will all I am, all I've lived for, count for anything there?
Joel Rusthoven says that because there will be no more conflict, there will be no more need for writing.
Couldn't we write just for the sake of a beautiful sequence of words?
What about writing for communication?
But when we finally know fully and are fully known, what would be the purpose?
What the heck do I like so much about writing, language and literature anyway? Do I "like" it just because it comes relatively naturally to me. Is that why I'm not studying to be an astro-physicist or an international security advisor? Because then I would have to work harder? Or is this really where I'm supposed to be? Lord, sometimes I wish You would just tell me to quit school and go live on a street corner in Rio De Janeiro--poke my eyes out and live everyday in complete submission before You and Your Will. Then I couldn't see the words anymore.--But I could still feel a pen, a keyboard; and smell the scent of new books. Heck--I might start sh*$ing stories.

I don't know what I like anymore. Do I like English enough to be majoring in it? Do I like literature and the formation of a good sentence well enough to get a master's degree in it? A doctorate? (At present I don't seem to be doing a very good job keeping up with the readings in this my "favourite" subject of subjects.)
I've always liked all things Medieval. But then again...perhaps I've only always liked all things with the certain romantic bent of my idealized portrait of the Middle Ages. I can't say that I am a fan of the church controversy, the blending of pagan and Christian beliefs/practices, the Black Death, the ruthless rulers, the mass tribal raids and slaughterings. I like the ideal of chivalry. I like the idea of giving one's life for the love of a true King. But these involve warfare--killing "innocent" bystanders who just wanted a chance to live a life the best way they knew how on this planet.
I like some forms of art. I like medieval art (not the religious stuff as much, which is pretty well 99% of it). I like some Romantic artists (and writers and poets). I like different cultures--pretty much any culture other than my own (that would be specifically my post-modern consumeristic capitalistic Canadian culture as well as much of the heritage of my German ancestry). I like Celtic music; British landscapes; Welsh castles; New Zealand-ish mountain ranges; Highland roads. I don't like mechanistic thinking. I can see where it comes from and I suppose where it can be used, but I'd rather have poetry that breathes with the breath of trees. And yet I think I want to study at the Centre for Medieval and Renaissance Studies at Oxford where linear, concise, precise, honed thought is practiced day in and day out until it becomes nearly automatic. I suppose I see the place for debate--I used to relish it--but couldn't our time be better spent reading Jane Eyre or A Tale of Two Cities or some other "classic" with literary "substance" to a lonely elderly person?
Neo-Calvanism, the doctrine of the Trinity, the Nicene Creed, Orthadox liturgy....is this what you meant Lord? Partical physics, modern linguistic theory, the art of argument, of rhetoric....Lord, my God, lover of my soul, what did you mean when you said to cultivate the earth?
I was never made for legalism. I think it's just about killing me.
I was never made just for heaven. I think my flesh would rot beneath the weight of it.

Jesus! I want so badly to return to your simplicity--the simplicity of the salvation, the Faith you brought to earth--your earth. The earth you created, the trees you formed with love.

I don't know where any of my interests fit into the "grand scheme of things". I don't know if any of it is worth anything.
There is much sin in the world. There is much evil in the world. But in great darkness, a little light can go a long way. When we open a window at night, light goes out, darkness doesn't come in. But that doesn't mean we can pretend it's day.
We are in the dark days.
We are in the days of evil.
How the whole earth growns until Love's return.
Until love returns. (As Joy Kogawa puts it, I think.)

Let me be a light until You return.
Purge me of the shadows that stick like burnt rice to the bottom of this two-decade-old pan.

It's going to take some heavy-duty blood.
Thanks for getting the tab.

So what do I like? Who--in the name of all things everywhere--am I, anyway?
Do I define myself so much by my interests?
I don't know what I like enough to pursue the rest of my life. (Yes, this sentence can be read in different ways with different emphases--they are all correct--or partially correct--or completely gramatically misinformed--in their way ;-)
I want to pursue you Christ. Wherever you are to be found. Wherever your heart is, there I long to be. There I will be. Help me.