This day, this day that the LORD has made

I don't write much any more.

I feel like that ought to be infused with a gratuitous amount of poignancy. Something like: I don't even notice she's gone... most of the time. [note! gratuitous Bob Dylan reference.]

Like lots of thing in my life, it's something that I love doing--I loved doing--which I don't get a chance to do very much anymore.

If I was a truly creative person, I feel like I'd be crushed by this turn of events. A writer who no longer writes, like a musician who cannot play music, is someone who fails to exist! I am no longer who I am.

But in reality, it reflects the choices I've made.

I'm at Bible College now. I've made the choice to spend these last three years, and the next six months, immersed in God's word. I'm going to spend six months immersed in Ezekiel and Jeremiah, gleaning what I can from these majestic books of prophecy and creating something which will provide fertile ground for future ministry.

I'm a father now. I've made the choice to have children, and I have two beautiful children. They are laughter and joy and smiles. They're worth all the weariness and vomit and poo and nappies. They consume my time, and my mind, and my heart. I'm responsible not to leave their upbringing solely to my wife; I'm responsible to set them an example, and to make a house that they can live in. I don't precisely provide for them, but more than providing for their material needs, I like to think I'm creating a spiritual foundation through which I can raise them as God-fearing, Jesus-following children.

I'm a husband now. I can't waste reams of time playing computer games, when I have a beautiful wife to love and support and cherish.

At the end of the day, the things I have traded are worth every penny. The question is not whether I am all I could be; but rather, am I happy now? Am I content?

I am. More than I could imagine. God has blessed me immeasurably, and rather than discontent at some other Haoran that I could be, I can delight in all that he has put on my plate, realising that what I have is all I need, and more than that.

I don't write much any more. I'm okay with that.