I am ever at war with myself.
The darkness of my sinful mind contends with the light that is within me. Every day, there is war - a chance to hate, a chance to love.
I have seen hate - it bears itself in malice and in death. It burns with a flame that will run out, and all that is left is smouldering ruin. I have seen love, also - it is a fountain that gives without ever ceasing to give. Love is life, and life is real. We ought to love, but we fail because of our hate.
To love is Christ, and to fear is death. I don't have to worry about these things because I know I am saved by Christ from the darkness and because I know that I love. Apart from my God, I might as well be dead. God is the very reason I have life. I love because of the love of God that is in me.
To whomever reads this... and to whomever doesn't, I mean it - I love you.
As proof of parental parturition,
I carry this calathiform cicatrix -
from young days of prenatal pretermission,
quiet, musing in my mother's womb with such quiescent queries as -
"is there a world beyond this organic sphere?"