A friend's blog post really struck me just now, so I'm sharing it.
One Blog Now: Saying a Lot When I Don't Know What to Say
Part of the main point:
...Another poster points out that justice and mercy are not physical things, ie., they don't exist.
Except that they do. Like love, like God, they exist in the spaces in between us sorry mortals.
Are we called to be shame-ridden, hidden, guilt-stricken, empty?
Or are we called to something better?
"Love your neighbor as yourself." Mark 12:31, but it's all over the Bible really, including the Old Testament.
Which means--this is the tricky part--not only are we supposed to love all those "other" people--the ones who look different from us, or sound different, or believe different, love different, heaven forbid worship different--all those people who are Not Like Us--and yet we're supposed to love ourselves, too.
Actually, the post right before this one is quite good, too, in a completely different way.
My first published novel was supposed to have been a picture book, but it got out of hand. When I read the rough draft, after it had been accepted, I was appalled. I wrote to my editors, "You must have amazing faith in my powers of revision, because really, this sucks." They wrote back that most of their authors weren't quite so forthright.
I wrote my second published novel from an outline, which taught me to never do that again. Plenty of writers do, successfully; I don't. I wrote my third published novel with only one scene, the climax, in my head--I knew that if, when I got there, the reader could understand the points-of-view of everyone in it, the book would be a success.
I wrote my fourth published novel on a dare, and my fifth because my husband said I had to.
I love having friends who are writers and who always have something interesting to say.
By the way, you should read all her books, too.