Every desk job I had so far was half a day of working and the other half opening and closing Google Doc tabs; pages and pages filled with lines of romantic and melancholic poems. I thought: if I’m going to write so much, might as well have someone else read it in a contained environment. Some of these must be good.

I was mistaken.

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I was ordered to purchase several poetry books: Mary Oliver, Ted Kooser, Diane Suess. We read chapter six of Ted Kooser’s The Poetry Home Repair Manual. Writing about feelings.

It was then that I entered a horrible situationship with the word “sentimentality”. It’s my enemy and my dearest lover. The bad habit I refuse to break and the warm magic that inspires most of my poems. I looked back on my anthology and realized there was so much sentimentality (influence of emotions such as love, pity and tenderness) than anything else. There was hardly anything to grasp in my writing other than vague mentions of colors, the twinkle in someone’s eye or the gray sky over someone’s head.

Most writing (if not all) is a self-indulgent experienced masked a ritualistic practice rite of divine talent and creative expression. I could write about writing plus ego, but I’ll save that for a later time. I was not an English major, but like I mentioned before, I wondered and craved what someone would say about a line I felt proud of.

Ted Kooser writes: “My objection is to a kind of poems that feels to me as if it has been motivate day self-indulgence, a poem that puts the need of the poet to talk about himself or herself far out in front of the needs of the reader.”

I learned reading his book that writing isn’t a solitary enjoyment. Writing is meant to be shared, eventually. But obviously, keep some pieces to yourself!!

My first poem was okay and praised more than it should’ve been. A short piece about prayer and belief.

When the other students in my class were writing about lived experiences, climate change, abuse and grief, I felt so naive. Not that I couldn’t write about the life-altering experiences in my past, or how it feels to care for someone who is sick, (which I was dealing with) I simply had no interest in my own real issues. I wanted to write (and did) about waiting around corners hoping to run into your crush, the fire in the brush of two hands, or meeting someone’s gaze in a crowded room. When I realized my whole repertoire of writing was these fantastical and invited encounters, I was mortified.

The next classes, I was forced to stretch my brain by writing in timed sessions. This isn’t how I write at all. Sentences never come fully formed in my brain. I have to chew on certain words, spit them out and try again. These sessions forced me to pay attention to the details before me. I observed fixed objects: the table, the chair, the windows. These objects bored me to tears and I long for the dopamine rush that my past songs gave me. When I needed a quick fix, I’d turn on a love song and re-write the lyrics. I’ve done it over a thousand times at this point, the words come naturally, but I’ve learned easy writing or reaching a flow state is not indication that my writing is actually good. It feels good to write quickly and directly, but it’s not challenging me in anyway.

So what is good writing anyway? I don’t believe there is a straight answer to that. In middle school, I was taught the cardinal sins of writing were: run-on sentences and starting sentences with articles. Another sin I learned later on was “boring” writing, writing where nothing was really happening. I couldn’t lose a reader if I wanted to describe the billowing of a drape—that was a blue. If I did, no one in the world would care to read my work.

Then I encountered the genre that changed my life: classic novels.

Long sentences with intentional word choice, detailing furniture and objects to submerge a reader and metaphors that build upon each other are all signals to me of great writing. All of these elements are featured in classic novels.

While I love many modern-day novels, there is nothing like being sucked into classic book where archaic words work like magic in my brain. I don’t need to understand every aspect of 19th century culture and customs to be incredibly invested in the story. In a way, great writing speaks to serve its reader in a way that defies preconceived notions and time itself.

A revolutionary book in the canon of my life was Jane Eyre. Right after I finished it, I daydreamed about my own version of the story for months. I sat at my desk hoping to replicate Charlotte’s prose and failed, obviously. I can’t write the next Jane Eyre; so I sit and write a short poems about wanting and feel okay about it. But maybe if I tried, I could write something half as good as Jane Eyre and feel supremely fulfilled. Why not try? Because it won’t be easy?! What a ridiculous excuse.

When the writing isn’t good, my aim is to get better. When the writing isn’t easy, it means I’m not playing with magic, I am truly working and will be rewarded.

My last book haul included René Girard’s “All desire is a desire for being”. I discovered Girard while writing my essay “The (Art)ifice of Imitation”. I was planning to write an essay on the severe lack of original opinions online and in real life. Instead, I discovered that most (ALL) my desires weren’t even mine, but a sad and fruitless pursuit of someone else’s lifestyle, tastes and accomplishments. It’s been two months since its publication and if I can be honest, I am not sure if I’ve become less of a fraud or more of a master at artifice.

I’m only got to page 31 before the Sunday slump hit and I was sure I was going to take a nap. But as I am not someone who naps (sleep is such a struggle for me) I decided to get up and eat something in hopes it’ll keep me awake.

Now I am writing.

We begin with a brilliant introduction by translator and friend of the author, Cynthia Haven. And I insist it’s brilliant in a literal illuminating sense (I was reading either/or before this book and was struggling trying to comprehend “The Immediate Erotic Stages.”) Cynthia's intro was much more digestible for a novice like me.

The premier crime is envy. "All desire is a desire for being. So we look with covetous eyes at someone we fantasize has it all, who represents our derivative aspirations.”

I read this and felt it resonate with a spiritual conviction inside me. The conviction that I only operate towards or for something if I feel a certain stroke of inspiration usually by someone else.

Even before writing this piece, I was searching on Substack for essays on Girard and Mimetic Desire. I wanted to see my ideas written by another person’s pen before penning my own. I wanted somewhere to begin, for inspiration to strike me as I read their words. Often before starting any project, I scroll through social media, inundating myself with posts by dozens of content creators in hopes the envy I feel towards them will somehow propel me forward enough to carve my own course. It is a weird ritual my mind has made-up. And for now—because I’ve never told anyone—it is a completely original experience.

Although this novel joins together the concept of mimesis and myths—and I do not have time nor the will power to write an analysis of an analysis—I hope some of my findings interest you to keep reading.

Another aspect of this theory is the discussion around the “scape goat.” The victim, the decided sacrifice, the one at the right place at the wrong time. The interesting part of a scape goat that Girad brings up is that the person/thing is sometimes worshipped after they are brutally sacrificed. There’s this sort of revisionist history that occurs as soon as the victim is brutalized. In the anthology, the translator brings up Michael Jackson. Admittedly, I am a huge Michael Jackson fan and believe he is innocent. It’s one of those cases that doesn’t weigh heavily on my conscience, nor do I think it is a grave sin to enjoy “Billie Jean.” While Girard doesn’t directly address the Michael Jackson of it all, it did make me think of the of how we tend to deify a celebrity after their passing.

But more so, it made me think of how wrong we can be when making someone a scape goat.

By now, everyone has heard and read a million different think pieces on the Lindsey Clancy trial. I started following the trial on Tik-Tok (obviously) and made the mistake of ending up on two different extremes of opinion. My mind was being completely muddled by all the outrageous takes I was hearing and found I could barely come up with an opinion of my own. It came to the point where I wasn’t seeing what I knew to be true: three children were brutally murdered.

Simply put, it is an unimaginable evil.

Yet all I’ve been intaking on social media are the horrible and inaccurate accusations against someone who isn’t on trial. I couldn’t understand how in one breath we could be blaming the system for failing Lindsay and also claiming that her husband was the mastermind behind the vicious crime. For a portion of the trial, the target was this ominous healthcare system that has failed many people and their families. Then the trial started to take a turn because of pieces of “evidence” brought into the courtroom which led to a wildfire of theories online.

The internet had found their scapegoat.

In emotional trials like this one, our need to feel a sense of justice and fairness is completely warranted. We want to hear the final verdict against who we believe did the crime, even at the risk of incorrectly blaming someone.

I have friends who may disagree with me, and I do not think less of them or their intelligence. I hope that they do not think less of me for my judgement on the case. Whatever side you fall on, whether it’s Michael Jackson or Lindsey Clancy, I believe the most evil thing we can do as an outsider is to complexly humiliate others for their opinion or perspective.

As a Christian, I believe evil is evil. I believe ideologies are powerful. I believe people (especially mothers) claiming that they are one with Lindsey is deeply concerning. But I also believe we have come to a point in culture where our polarization is so severe that even the act of not engaging in certain battles is the mercy we need to extend.

I have to have hope in our legal system. I have to hope that healthcare becomes easier to access and navigate for new moms and women in general. I have to maintain my belief that God is sovereign over all things on heaven and earth.

Whether or not you fundamentally disagree with me and my thoughts, I hope that God grants us the peace and strength to regard one another as brothers and sisters.

Saturday morning. I had set my alarm for 8:30am the night before, which is pretty late if it were any other day. My phone’s alarm never wakes me up. I wake naturally at the first rays of sunlight shining against the clothes in my closet from the only window without black-out drapes. I have to make a conscious effort to go back to sleep, which almost never happens and defeats the entire purpose of trying to sleep more. So I lay in bed as waves of thoughts crash against my cranium. All possibilities lap in my mind like crystal water of an ocean I should’ve visited this summer but didn’t, because all I really desire is to be reading and writing.

Even as I type this out now, listening to the swooping, last chorus of Drop Dead by Olivia Rodrigo, I feel an otherworldly exhilaration. There is nothing I’ve ever worked harder at than my writing. I’m almost convinced there is nothing I will love more than my writing (except my family and my own future family). Even my college commencement left me with aches finally half-way filled by finishing the first draft of my manuscript.

Insanely so, I prayed one night to God that if I don’t realize my ultimate dream of being a mother, then I hope I’ll have a fulfilling career as a novelist.

Anyways. I quit my dream job as a bookseller for valid reasons.

1. To spend more time with my family who will be visiting for the rest of summer.

2. I am returning back to school in the fall.

However, there exists a secret third reason.

3. In my newly granted free time, I will be writing.

Saturday morning. I would set my alarm for 7:30 am, enough time to get ready, chug and iced coffee and pray my shift would be a productive one. Stacks of books, dust on the counters, the chaos of a cash-wrap line, receipt paper printing and getting jammed. Bookselling was easy. A job anyone could do.

For a time, I loved it so much and could see myself doing it for the rest of my life. In the past year, for a multitude of reasons I won’t share to honor my privacy, the illusion of being a successful bookseller faded. Not even my passion for books and generous discount could keep me there.

I am in a great position where I do have another part-time job that pays well enough for my expenses. I have a family that supports my decision—as long as I help around the house! But other than writing, I’ve found that nothing has been more fulfilling than spending time with my loved ones.

Now I get up early on Saturday’s to read my Bible, go to the gym, grab coffee with a friend or write before my household gets up. It is a new ritual I traded in my dream job for.

Of course, since I love writing so much, my ultimate dream is to write full-time. Until then, I will be working on my craft. And if God says I’m meant for something else, I will not be discouraged.

I took a risk, but what is having faith without taking risk?

Growing up in a traditional, Christian, Hispanic household left little room for error on my part–though many errors were still committed. I always believed myself to have a strong moral code and almost pervasive sense of justice (per my religious upbringing and two year stint attending a Baptist church). But what I also possessed was a deep rooted need to please others.

In pop-psychology, this is most commonly known as the “Good Girl Complex.” Like “eldest daughter syndrome” (which I am but don’t think I have) these terms have infested social media accounts and mental health posts. Yet, none of this dialogue has helped me through my hidden fears. Rather, it was during my walk with Christ, I was forced to confront the intentions of my pursuit of said “goodness.”

I was raised by two wonderful and intelligent parents who believed in corporal punishment and threats. No gentle parenting. And yet, they loved me and wanted the best for me—and I knew it to be true. I was embarrassingly introverted, timid, shy and quiet growing up. And yet, I was still shocked to hear that other people perceived me this way too. I remember in seventh grade we had an activity where our teacher made us walk around the room writing adjectives to describe our classmates. Everyone in my class described me as “shy”, “quiet” or “nice.” There was an overwhelming amount of the two former words which deeply offended met. It could’ve been from that moment on that I developed a pattern of behavior where I’d spontaneously come out of my shell to try to charm the other person into liking me. I have no data to show that it worked, but I thought I was doing something good for myself.

After being a Christian for basically all my life, I watched a documentary that explained the Gospel in a way that I had never heard before. Long story short, I became extremely aware of the sin in my own heart. Never in my life had it been impressed upon me that I was merely a useless wanderer without Jesus. Someone sick in need of a great physician. Although I knew in my mind that’s how the story went, it didn’t quite pierce my heart until then.

But when a “good girl” finds out her base desires are wicked and she can’t perform her way into good graces, what do you think follows after that? A collapse of self. If not entirely, at least of sorts.

In her 2020 documentary, Taylor Swift discussed how her role as a public figure exacerbated her own “good girl” complex. Hearing her speak so candidly about it made me feel so seen. It reminded me of how much I craved praise from teachers and friends. How often I would avoid confrontation to protect myself. Or discard a relationship with someone because I didn’t understand where I stood with them. How many conversations, encounters and paths I avoided because of my fear!

But holding these beliefs about myself became more and more complicated the longer I walked with Christ. I was both relieved by Christ’s sacrifice and a little startled. If no one was good but Him alone, what did I gain (or lose!) for all those years of sacrifice? It wasn’t enough that I didn’t party, drink or have sexual encounters with different people. It wasn’t enough to be nice to everyone in my workplace, nor have good grades. No matter how good I was, it could never be enough. You’re probably reading this and thinking: well, that’s the whole point! I commend you, it took a lot of years of praying for maturity to be okay with this conclusion. I understand this gracious fact more so now, but I can’t help those moments where I look at my “pure” efforts and almost cringe. For years I was trapped in my own skull. Don’t do this! Don’t do that! Even when my own friends would engage in sin, I felt a sick feeling in my stomach as if I was the one partaking in it but unable to enjoy it like they would.

But I’m missing a very crucial factor, it’s not about my goodness but God’s. My “goodness” is not meant to gain me anything materially speaking, it is instead supposed to transform me. I know now that it isn’t about what I do in order to gain something, but to become something.

Something for the Glory of God alone!

I started writing an article about the social hegemonization fueled by social media and, in turn, discovered something strange about myself: I’m always seeking to change, therefore, I never want to be myself.

Now this might sound like a non sequitur, but I sincerely hope I am not alone in this struggle.

As I approach my birthday, I’ve been reflecting a lot on the lessons and surprises of my early 20s. I think most people look at their life in broad strokes and can’t shake the feeling that they’ve fallen behind. This feeling has especially been part of my own personal testimony. I was someone who got their driver's license late, started working minimum wage jobs much later than my peers and managed to enter the workforce at a sucky time. Tough luck. I’ve had to pivot, become flexible, stick with jobs I am not passionate about and many other things that no one warned me about. During this period, these halts have produced an irresistible restlessness in my body. In order to cope with these overwhelming sensations, I’ve done what most people who are sober do: go to the internet.

Something seemingly innocent as stalking someone’s page because I found their perfectly curated feed appetizing started to become a daily habit for me. What I mistook for admiration started to melt into a subtle form of idolatry. Ironically enough, I did find a lot of inspiration, but I never found the answer I was looking for. Similar to my last article, the vain imaginations started to form in my mind. Unbiblical thoughts such as: If I had this I would be happy. If I lived here I would be happy. If I had this job I would feel fulfilled.

If, if, if, if

These thoughts are completely offensive to me because I’ve always deemed myself a creative and original person. And of course, a grave offense to God, Creator of All Things, as He is the one shaping my story and delights in me no matter what job I have or where I live. Instead, I reduced myself to a poor mimicry of someone I only longed to impersonate for a brief moment of respite from my present circumstances.

Brief Disclaimer: Now, as writer, I find a lot of inspiration in other people’s work. This is a net good. What I’m addressing is more about the slippery slope I became a victim to after doing more wanting and desiring rather than creating.

René Girard

Subconsciously, I started to desire things that never interested me before: certain books, a new hand bag, a new wardrobe etc. I started to think of all the ways I could mirror someone’s style, hair and mannerisms. Even the books, films and music they were consuming, in hopes I will become something….better? My desires were not only changing but becoming a whole new appetite–one that I was letting control what I bought or thought of constantly.

There is a name for this psychological concept: mimetic desire. Coined by René Girard, mimetic desire is the idea that humans desire things not because of a desire of the thing itself but because others possess or desire those things. This is the Artifice of Imitation, a calculated pursuit of something after you’ve convinced yourself you can be truly happy possessing that same thing. Artifice is like sin, it feels good for the moment. It feels strangely comforting to be in secret pursuit of something, to feel as if you have the power to change your luck by acquiring more.But in the end if our aim was never true then we will miss the mark.

I have mastered the artifice of imitation but I have found no answers. Instead, what is demanded of me is the rawness of my soul, a humble heart and dreams that are wholly my own.

Apostle Paul

While my life is as comfortable as it can be, there still exists this restlessness in my body that I’ve been trying to escape for years. This anxiety most likely stems from my personal circumstances and/or a biological disposition. My mission is not to run away from these signals and alerts but to learn to live with them.

If you are someone who also struggles with these thoughts and patterns of behaviors I have good news for you, there is a holy art of imitation. It is found in the words written by the Apostle Paul.

“Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ.” (1 Corinthians 11:1)

A boastful proclamation for someone who once persecuted Christians during the early ages of the Church. A completely warranted proclamation for someone who risked his life time and time again to declare the Good News of Our Lord Jesus Christ. The people of Corinth, who Paul addresses, needed clear instruction. Sometimes in pursuit of trying to escape myself and circumstances, I misunderstand the holy call that is to model my life and actions after Christ.

No tricks, no cunning, no bait and switch needed. No artifice, just art.

As an avid reader and bookseller, I have fallen into the trappings of our modern publishing world, further complicated by my faith and personal convictions. I have also seen how publishing has bamboozled oblivious parents and impressionable kids.

The other day, a young girl (who could’ve easily passed as 16) came into the store with her mom looking for an Adult Romance book, a specific title I recognized. I took them both to the correct section and handed the book to the mom, slowly. Immediately, she realized this wasn’t an age-appropriate book her daughter was looking for. At the same time, I understood both mother and daughter were fooled. Without embarrassing the daughter, I asked the mom how old her daughter was.

“Twelve.”

I nodded, considering the best way to minimize disappointment and said as kindly as possible: “Maybe not this one.” I retrieved the book from the mom’s hand and gestured for them to follow me to the YA section. The young girl was flushed in the face so I said something along the lines of: “Oh this section will be much better.” I proceeded to point out several YA romance titles. The mother was sincerely appreciative and the daughter left with an age-appropriate title, maybe only slightly disappointed.

I completely understood where the daughter was at—wanting to make the giant leap from tween/teen books to adult books.

My Own Experience

When I started reading (mainly Young Adult books), I found them incredibly entertaining with an innocuous amount of indulgence. Digestible world building, high stakes and a dash of forbidden love–what more could I need?

But as I was approaching my twenties, I felt I was outgrowing the YA genre. I began to long to be one of those girls who read every new contemporary romance release. Yes, those books with the misleading covers. The very same that fooled the innocent mom and daughter duo.

So I did.

Admittedly, I felt no shame in it (my goodreads history can attest to it). I wasn’t twelve anymore. I wasn’t even seventeen. I thought: how healthy for me to be reading adult romance as a girl in my twenties exploring love, desire and loneliness! Besides, I enjoyed the occasional rom-com. I could fast forward *those* scenes and skip *those* pages.

What could be so different between reading romance and watching it?

Well, for one, whenever I’d watch a rom-com it was rarely by myself, usually with my mom or sister. The list of rom-coms I enjoyed were fairly tame (Clueless, 10 Things I Hate About You). Additionally, my appetite for rom-coms was always small in comparison to other women my age, as I always preferred thrillers or superhero films to the sappy genre.

But the books? Different story.

I read and enjoy several miscommunications, meet-cutes and ostentatious love confessions. All along I thought to myself this couldn’t be wrong? But was it really good for me?

Paul writes: “All things are lawful for me, but all things are not helpful. All things are lawful for me, but I will not be brought under the power of any.”

1 Corinthians 6:12

I’ve seen this verse quoted in reference to the temperance of alcohol and the condemnation of smoking, but what about other activities we are engaging with?

There is no doubt that reading has become a trend–at least online. I am not here to add any stats or data (but I know for certain my bookstore is always hitting or exceeding our daily profit goals) my account is primarily anecdotal and my only credentials are that I’m a part time bookseller. In other words: please just trust me. I’ve seen first-hand the influx of young girls–who should be reading YA–make that giant leap to Adult Romance (as the story above illustrates) without knowing better.

My essay would conclude here with: Parents monitor your kid’s reading choices!!

But that’s not really the issue I want to address, nor is it the heart of the problem. While I agree with that statement, there is something larger happening in our culture.

I wish I could pinpoint for you the exact moment when this indulgence became an issue in my life, but really, it started unraveling over time, quite unknowingly.

I am an idealist at heart, a text-book hopeless romantic, a part-time poet whose work was called “too sentimental” by a college professor, so I get it. But as a Christian, I know I can’t be led by my emotions. And this is exactly what was happening when I’d pick up certain Romance books. I found after finishing each one my expectations began to sour and my mind began to wander into territory my Spirit knew I should’ve never entertained. When I began mentally interacting with–and creating–vain imaginations and putting those above the promises God had spoken over my life, I found myself not only filled with more anxiety, but losing belief in what I knew to be true.

In 2023, I was browsing on Amazon and bought Orwell’s 1984. I had never read it in high school and kept seeing it on social media due to various reasons: the highly politicized media landscape, the rising fear of totalitarianism and my inability to understand this system the media kept talking about. I read it and felt my brain had been stretched in a way 16 years of schooling never could have. The next books I purchased followed a similar vein: Crime and Punishment, The Brothers Karamazov, The Count of Monte Cristo and Jane Eyre.

Classics.

I was amazed by the ideas these authors wrestled with such as sacrificial love, faith, justice and morality. This was what I had been reaching for all along, something good and true. Somehow, I had mistreated my longing and tried to feed it with something short, snappy and vacuous. This only fostered in me aimless and crooked passions.

Before I continue I want to clarify: I have read a romance novel between that discovery and now, and have enjoyed one or two rom-coms as well. I don’t want to make a blanket statement and say: IF YOU’RE A CHRISTIAN STOP READING ROMANCE BOOKS! I don’t think it’s my place to say that. What I intend to offer here is my personal experience with these books and as much honesty as my fingers will allow me to type. I understand people have different convictions. For example, I cannot watch horror movies. I know they are not good for me and fill me with paralyzing fear—even long after I’ve seen even only a minute of them. But some of my Christian friends can, and good for them, they can enjoy an additional genre of film.

*Also: I am in no way advocating for Christians to read explicit books. I do not think Christians should read dark romance or smutty romantasy books*

But if I can be honest, I still wonder about romance. I still find myself perusing the romance section (I do work with books!) and find myself recommending these books to our customers, pretending to have read them (I still have a job to do!) I love Taylor Swift. I love swooning to her yearning songs during my car rides. I am an introvert, so I spend most of my days thinking and day dreaming. And admittedly, a few months ago I picked up a no spice, contemporary romance and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

However, I can also say that it didn’t fill that void in my heart. I was still left somewhat bitter by the fact that men I encounter can never measure up to the book boyfriends of our modern books. And how are they ought to? When women are painting the perfect, patient man who knows all the right things to say and knows all the right things to do! But in that realization, I knew I had to re-examine the issues in my own heart being brought to light by the book I was reading.

So where do I go from here?

Well, I am currently writing my own novel about two characters who will eventually fall in love (though it’s not a romance book). I have restrained the tension between them as much as I can for the sake of a slow burn. Besides, there are so many other things going on in the plot that it makes no sense to up the romance.

However, I cannot lie, those scenes where there is evident attraction between the two are so fun for me to write. This creative project has been a long time coming and I still have much more to write. I don’t think there’s anything sinful about this. Once, I felt at a crossroads between my pursuit of writing vs my ringing convictions. I do not have a plain answer of DO THIS or DON’T DO THIS. That would be incredibly reductionist (and legalistic).

Instead, I have to remain open to the Spirit of God and invite him into everything I do. In everything I write and read. There are certain periods of my walk with God where I need to give up secular music for a month, or give up certain foods, or stop reading fiction all-together. But God still wants us to enjoy life and glorify Him in everything we do. We only have to be alert—not by hyper-fixating on how weak we are—but how strong and good our God is.

Whether we like it or not we are always being influenced by something. I’ll leave my readers with this question: Are you listening to God’s voice or your own?

Once, Søren Kierkegaard was only a name I wrote on a list of authors I wanted to read someday. Slowly, the name moved down due to all the book series I kept placing above it.

One day I was at my job (the bookstore) and the small bay of philosophy books caught my attention. On a whim (as I was finishing up a little known book called East of Eden) I decided Fear and Trembling would be my next read.

As soon as I started it, I knew I was way in over my head. Up to that point, a challenging book meant a classic Victorian novel. But that didn’t stop my attempt at reading it and understanding it.

Having grown up attending Sunday school, I was very familiar with Abraham and Isaac’s story which Fear and Trembling centers. Kierkegaard, under a pseudonym, begins his work with creative retellings of the call of Abraham. Those poetic passages connected with a part of my brain that had studied the Bible and appreciated it as a text of literature.

“Knight of Faith” is a concept I had heard before mentioned in the occasional apologetic and theological video. To me, it meant someone bold in their faith shown through their actions rather than an internal and constant belief. But as I kept reading, I learned what Kierkegaard means by Knight of Faith is much deeper. This Knight is not a hero that boasts in his actions, instead, he is a lone figure on a single mission, not held by the ethics applied universally. In the same way that Abraham’s decision to sacrifice his son at the behest of God is not merely an act of astonishing obedience but a complete suspension of what we understand as ethics.

So how does this tie to my love of fantasy?

I was reading one of my new favorite series (Sun Eater by Christopher Ruocchio) and something strange was happening inside me. Without revealing too much of the plot, our main character receives a call from the Quiet (an ominous force that demands obedience for the greater good of mankind) and reading these passages made me think of my own relationship with God. Much more than exhilaration brought forth by the action-packed plot, more than being completely swamped by my emotional ties to the main character, I felt genuinely compelled to do something.

So I drove to work, listening to my worship playlist of songs and thinking of the passages I had just read. Suddenly, I was hit by my reality—my living tangible reality. All at once, I was confronted by the unconceivable realness of God Himself but also the plan He has for my life.

“Many are called, but few are chosen.”

I, who at a young age encountered God, felt like I was laying down my life at his feet all over again. The moment only lasted a few minutes as I rode out the emotional high for about three more minutes (as long as the worship song played)

But the Truth of it remains rooted in me.I thought: How incredible for a God to use something I love such as reading to stir my faith?

The Knight of Faith– Abraham–who was asked so much of himself, pledged his allegiance to the Creator of all things through an act we would deem despicable. How could a loving Father sacrifice his own Son?

His faith suspended all ethics and disregarded the universal. It was not a boastful pledge, nor a loud battle cry, but it was a completely isolated, quiet and completely faithful response.

^“By faith Abraham, when he was tested, offered up Isaac, and he who had received the promises offered up his only begotten son, of whom it was said, “In Isaac your seed shall be called,” concluding that God was able to raise him up, even from the dead, from which he also received him in a figurative sense.”

In this life, perhaps I can’t be the hero of an epic space fantasy, but in that car ride it did feel possible. Even amidst losing everything and everyone they loved, my heroes answered the call and took that great leap.

I thought, for a brief moment, I could rise above all the muck and mire and gather such a faith that suspends my pain and doubts.

“Faith, on the contrary, is this paradox: that inwardness is higher than outwardness.”

But of course, I am only human, so that faith is still being stirred inside me. It is tested and tried every day of my life. But I have settled in my mind that as cool as it might be, I am not the main character of my life.

Initially, I had begun this essay as a way to inspire others with my awesome faith journey, but that would be disingenuous—for this story is not about me. Maybe I can’t ever truly be the Knight of Faith, but I can glimpse a life of total isolation and being misunderstood by others for the sake of an upward call (like so many scorned heroes!) That call had been tugging on my heart reading the Bible, Kierkegaard and my silly epic sci-fi fantasy series.

That call may be for me and I may have answered, but all things under the sun and in heaven point back to the ultimate Knight–Jesus Christ.

May we never forget our knight in radiant armor.

Logos, meaning “word” in Greek, is used in many different ways throughout the New Testament. The Gospel of John refers to the incarnation of Jesus as “the Word.” “Logos” is a concept found in various fields of study (philosophy, religions and rhetoric) encompassing the act of speech, persuasion and reason.

Authored by an unidentified writer, nestled between a letter from Paul and a letter from James, one finds the book of Hebrews. At the heart of this book is the exaltation of Jesus Christ and recalling of Old Testament scripture that points to the new covenant established by the Logos Himself. In chapter four, we follow three main topics: rest, the power of the Word and Jesus as our high priest. Verse 12 in particular has always stood out to me for its description of the soul-stirring and preserving character of the word of God.

While we have many references to the Word and its purpose in our lives, this verse gives us specific traits to apply for us to understand it better. Painting a picture of the word of God in motion:

“For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.” (Hebrews 4:12 KJV)

The first three descriptions of the word are “quick”, “powerful” and
“sharper than any two-edged sword.” From this we understand the word acts swiftly and with force. Using a sword to illustrate this shows immense intentionality by the author. A sword with a blade sharpened on both sides lacerates and cuts at any and every movement. The wielder and its opponent both may suffer injuries, but if the wielder is God, how can he be hurt by his own Word? In literature, a sword may signify judgment and authority, implying that the word has the ultimate authority and power over all. Furthermore, I believe the choice of these words is meant to evoke an image of a battle in which the Word is victorious.

The next part of the verse speaks of the word as piercing beyond the flesh and bones and unto the soul and spirit of man. Following the theme of the previous line, the word is shown as having the power to cut through mere flesh into the unseen and mysterious parts of us.

The soul is distinct from the spirit because the spirit is the immaterial part of us that connects to God. On the other hand, our souls hold our emotions that are ever-changing and inconsistent. This part of the verse is also where the language becomes intangible as it speaks of incorporeal matters. It is much easier to imagine being cut with a sword than to imagine our soul and spirit cut asunder. In a figurative sense, the word is probing and making a distinction between the things of the flesh–desires, wants, impulses– and elements of the spirit– the things pertaining to heaven.

In my perspective, the final line of the verse perfectly culminates all that has been stated, portraying the word as alive and active. In this line, the focus shifts from the physical body to the mind and heart. Human thoughts harbor perceptions, ideas, and beliefs about the world around us. To discern these matters, one must possess the knowledge of right and wrong. Serving as a guide of morals, the word not only has the authority to cut but to reveal the underlying schemes, designs, and objects of the human heart and will.

At its essence the word functions as a mirror. Within this mirror, we encounter a reflection of ourselves, uncovering our hidden truths. Through the word, all motives are revealed and subject to God’s judgment. Being confronted with the truth inspires change as we are commanded and made to reflect the image of God. The word searches the depths, cuts flesh from bones, divides the spirit and soul, and reflects the God-ordained likeness of man.

In this profound encounter with the word, we are laid bare to align ourselves with the image intended by the Creator through the piercing of our hearts and souls, for our good.