After seven pages of introduction on the followup to Truth Must Prevail, I, I saw that it was not yet begun. The material may become useful, but maybe not. It is saved and abandoned for now.
The best writing resembles a current of water dancing in a stream. Artists effortlessly dance with the stream, keeping the perspective and even attaching the smell of mountain air. Professions watch for snapshots. I tend to get a pitcher and try to pour it into a bowl. While writing, words can pour out in any direction. What exists on those seven pages is about 17 bowls of water drawn from several streams. In that form, I will never capture the stream, and you might never see it.
An ant wandered into my stream,
and rolled away, a ball of clay.
That suddenly implies something different. Crude, perhaps, but it changes your perspective, because it forces you to consider “stream” differently.
Imagine finding a little old cabin in the deep woods. Grass has grown up all around and right up to the first step to the door, which you barely manage to push open against its rusty hinges. The chimney collapsed, and water stains surround the fireplace. The floor and all the furniture inside are covered with an undisturbed sheet of dust. Yellowed newspaper pages hang on the windows, mouse droppings are abundant on every flat surface, and spider webs hang everywhere. Everything tells you that nobody entered this cabin in the last decade or more. You smell a familiar aroma, and suddenly notice a steaming cup of coffee on the table in the center of the room.
Your brain short circuits. Everything inside of you feels an immediate need to rationalize the experience, to make sense of the data. You break out in goose bumps, perhaps. That is what happens to many of us who abruptly smell the coffee. We head for the cup to look for clues. Others simply hurry back outside and run away, screaming. Or slink away, making excuses. Or denying the experience. That is true.
It happened to my thinking regarding Creation and the Great Flood. Absolutely, I am certain of their existence. When I say this, a lot of people roll their eyes.
They do not smell the coffee. They also forget that 100 years ago, “scientists now know” that “the earth may be 20 to 40 million years old, probably much closer to 20 million than 40″ and rapidly shifting to perhaps as much as100 million years old.” It didn’t reach its current age of 4.5 billion years old until 1953. In fact, “we now know” that Earth is exactly 4,567,301,000 years old, plus or minus 16,000 years. Funny, though, because while that number is still precisely the same, the universe and creation were still “scientifically proven” to be 7-20 billion years old in 1953, depending on which branch of science you asked.
All true.
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