There's something romantic about the word "freelance".

I've started writing articles for a small monthly press, covering simple topics of interest to the local Christian community. Although journalism has never really piqued my imagination, how can I complain about writing for money? It's like I'm back in school turning in papers to the teacher; only now the teacher is an editor and I don't pay him, he pays me.

Some of the greatest novelists were also journalists--Mark Twain, Jack London, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, to name a few of my favorites.

An old friend of mine just came out and said that he had decided he is an agnostic.

Agnostic is an ugly word to a Christ follower. It doesn't mean, "I don't believe in God." That statement I can face, argue, or fight against. But the word agnostic means, "I believe you can't make me believe." I don't know how to even address that. Only God can do anything about such an idea and even He has limits. The person has to choose, God won't force.

So I'm stuck wading in a tide of sadness and even anger. Sadness because my friend has rejected what I feel is the key to life. He grew up with faith all around him, tried to grasp it, but ultimately threw it away for what he thought were intellectual reasons.

Donald Miller says that "there are some guys who don't believe in God and they can prove He doesn't exist, and some other guys who do believe in God and they can prove He does exist, and the argument stopped being about God a long time ago and now it's about who is smarter, and honestly I don't care."

But I do care. I care because I see myself less as an evangelist or a preacher and more as a fighter. I fight the forces inside myself and the forces outside myself that try to bring other people away from God and into a world of darkness. Often I lose in the fight, but sometimes I win. In the conflict, the good fighters are outnumbered.

My friend imagines that he is an agnostic because his mind finds no proof that the Bible is true or that the world started in six days. I say his heart has turned away from the truth more than his mind. Science can point away from the theory of evolution (fossil record, cellular evidence, etc.) and agree with a worldwide flood; it can also point toward speciation by natural selection. But arguments abound until everything just sounds like the adults on the Peanuts cartoons: wah wah wah.

Essecially, I'm a Christian. I thought he followed the same faith but he has turned away. As the spiritual fighter, I feel like a soldier whose companion has laid down his arms and walked into the middle of the field with is hands up. My heart screams at my friend to come back, to keep up the fight, but he keeps walking. I look around as my comrads continue to cower or turn away in fear.

I look around and I am alone.

These thoughts are not knew. Writers have written of this fight since it began thousands of years ago. Strangly, knowing that my side has always been outnumbered and always will be gives me comfort and another reason to believe. The faith of others, even if they are long gone, reminds me that they fought and died in the same world. In the same war.

I can die for Him too. Even if I'm the last man on earth who believes that Jesus is the Son of God, I can still die for Him. Even though my closest friend or my family may abandon me, I can still die for my Jesus because that's what He did for me.

Hello, God.

Hi, how's it going?

Oh, good grief. As if you don't know. Is that your idea of a joke?

Kinda. I just ask so you can tell me yourself.

Yeah, whatever. Listen, I've been thinking. And I'd like to ask you a question.

Go ahead, I like an inquisitive mind. I designed it after all.

Good, here it goes. I've been thinking, you know, reevaluating some things. I've taken stock of my job, my family, the people I work with and the things that have happened to me in the past few years. Keeping in mind that you control the universe and all that, I'd like to say something regarding my life.

Ok, go ahead.

Here it is: are you KIDDING me?

I don't follow you.

Oh, don't be coy. You know EVERYTHING for crying out loud. You know perfectly well the idiots I have to put up with around here. My wife thinks I'm ridiculous. My boss doesn't respect me. And I don't get paid enough! You call that blessing?

I call that more than you deserve.

I work hard.

True. But I want you to learn something from life and to grow. You can't grow if I don't stretch you.

Oh, what do you know. You're God. It's easy for you.

You're pushing it.

I mean, have you seen my car? I have to pay to fix that!

Are you done?

And what's with my mother? It's like she thinks I'm still in the first grade.

Ever read the book of Job? Deal with it.

This isn't some story, God. I'm suffering here.

I've heard enough.

Would you listen to what I'm trying to say?

I've taken stock of you're life too. Now I realize that you are a selfish, lazy slob, who doesn't love his family. You hate your parents and have dreamed of killing your boss. Yesterday, you cheated on your wife. And you want me to bless you?

Umm, well.

What do you expect me to do?

Have pity?

Pity! Did you have pity on your son when he asked for a second chance? Did you have pity when your brother came to you for help? No, I don't think pity is right for you.

But...

NO! You will say nothing more until I pass judgment! I am the CREATOR, the FIRST AND THE LAST. You are nothing but a stench in my presence.

I'm sorry, I...

In light of your behavior, remembering the laws set forth at the beginning of the world, I have no other choice...

Oh, crap.

...but to die for you. Go in peace.

Amen.

Lilies

The instant I give in to despair, I get what I want.

"Hello, Life Lesson. I'm Stupid."

For the past several weeks I've been bemoaning my lack of steady work. Several sporadic jobs have kept me busy and partially paid, but when I don't have a regular schedule, I hardly get anything done. I don't exercise and I don't write much. So to combat my lethargy, I've been selectively looking for work like a kid who only likes the brown M&Ms. Until recently, I haven't found exactly what I wanted. Now all of a sudden I have steady work with my Dad, which couldn't get more flexible or stress free. I also have a deal worked out in which I work for my rent. On top of all that, I just got a call from a local newspaper saying they might have editing work for me to do. Even if the paper thing falls through, I know that God is watching out for me. He clothes the lilies and all that.

Agent Workshop

The KWA agent workshop not only taught me more about the publication process, but set me in front of a real agent. The lecture sessions kept my interest so well that the only reason I ever looked at my watch was so I wouldn't miss my consultation. I learned that my synopsis is too long, my hook too short, and my book too "narrative". Now I can fix those problems and finish my work, confident that I at least have an inkling of what I'm about.

The agent Joanna Stampfel looked over my summary, discussed my book with me, and read a few of my pages. Although we didn't sign a deal then and there (my book isn't even finished), she gave me some pointers and a huge confidence boost. I now get to send a whole thirty pages to her for her further analysis. Every connection helps; every bit of advice matters.

She also inspired me to read more quickly. How can I more effectively learn about my craft than through reading?