I have had the good fortune of discovering that in divers ways this last month. Endless stupidity, ignorance, delusional, and futile thinking. Theological ineptitude, hardness of heart, coldness, empty words, delighting in my own opinions etc.. etc...
God grant that I may not write a book until I am fluent in ten languages, wise, slow to speak, quick to listen, sparing in my words, loving, gentle, irenic, and thoroughly versed in nearly everything that has been written before me on the putative subject. Even then, perhaps, God grant that I might not write at all. As if the world needs another blabbering idiot.
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