I am a sinner. I have been afflicted with a deadly wound. It will claim me. Without some miraculous intervention, I am done for.

My wife and I have prayed for a long time that I'd be healed. And despite all that, it'd be hard to say I'm much better.

I don’t know you, but I love you. I love you with a very small part of the love that God has for you: a love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

You are in a room occupied by innumerable wheels, levers, switches, knobs, and pedals. The lowly conductor, you press and spin, twiddle and turn, wipe the sweat from your brow, damn the luck, and press some more.