Isaac Newton: Lovely

Newton's assistant described him as absent-minded, and wrote down some daily activities with Newton which give us some insight into that lovely person's life:

*There was a typo. 'In the performances of which he was meticulous and exact.'

My Belief

John 3:16 says, “God so loved the world, he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believed in Him would never die but have eternal life.” To an American in the South, where multiple churches deck every town, and the word ‘religion’ passes through most conversations casually, rolling off the tongue with a sleepy familiarity, John 3:16 can be worn-out, overused, and overlooked. Often, the regular churchgoer has heard it so many times that they no longer hear it, while even the ‘nonreligious’ person has dismissed it as insignificant. But to me, that verse is life. It speaks of God, the creator of all things, of a lost and broken humanity, which has turned from God to sin, and of his beloved Son, Jesus, who is by nature God. That verse encompasses the most life-changing truth anyone will ever encounter. God’s love in unfathomable and unchanging, and Jesus is a personal savior who died for each person who chooses to follow him.

In fact, the Bible is the ultimate source for this belief. There are over twenty-four thousand ancient documents from the Bible found in Europe, Asia, and Africa, many of which are over two thousand years old. Out of the thousands of legitimate manuscripts of the Bible, there are very few that aren’t identical, and even these few examples are mostly mistakes such as the misspelling of a name or number. God has preserved his Holy Word so that every verse can be translated accurately. This is further proof of his love and mercy towards mankind. The Bible is filled with detailed accounts including dates, numbers, names, and places so accurate that even some atheistic historians, upon examining the Bible, admitted that it was as historically accurate and reliable as any ancient document they’d ever examined. 2 Timothy 3:16 says that “All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting, and training in righteousness.” That verse makes it perfectly clear that the Bible is purely inspired by God and that each person should make the choice in their own heart to believe what it says.

Not only is God’s truth backed up by his infallible word; it’s also backed up by millions of people, too many people to count. Ever since the beginning of time, humans from all walks of life have given their all for the belief that God was their maker and king. Many famous scientists followed Christ. Robert Boyle, Issac Newton, Michal Faraday, and Lord Kelvin exemplify profound faith coupled with an understanding of God’s Creation. George Washington and Abraham Lincoln loved God and studied his Word deeply. Beyond these famous examples are countless more. Millions of Christians have died for their beliefs. For instance, in the days of Ancient Rome before Constantine, Romans tortured and killed Christians brutally, insisting that they deny their faith. But even in the face of grief, death, hatred and pain, thousands of believers held to their beliefs and went to their graves proclaiming Jesus Christ because they truly knew who he was; he had died for them, and he was worth dying for. I have seen the transforming power of God in the lives of my family and friends. I have met hundreds of Christians whose eyes shine with joy and love, and who praise God as the ruler of their lives. God’s Holy Spirit is clearly at work in their hearts, instructing them in an unexplainable, undeniable way and guiding them with a still, small voice, opening their eyes to truth, goodness, beauty, and selflessness.

Most importantly, I’ve seen God at work in my own life. Ever since I was seven, I’ve felt a growing realization that God is indeed real, that he loves me and cares for me personally, and that every word of his Bible is true. The more I read the Bible, the more I come to love it. He is a constant companion, a friend who knows my heart - and all the evil in me - and yet loves me anyway. As I read his Word, worship him in song, pray to him throughout the day, talk to other Christians about him, and hear stories of his work in their lives, I am continually reminded that God is transforming the hearts of many people, and loving them personally. He brings me comfort when I’m upset or in pain. He steers me away from addictions, whether they’re small bad habits or overwhelming obsessions. He leads me into conversations with people I would never have otherwise talked to, and he uses those conversations to lift my heart and the hearts of others.

In summary, God loves me and everyone else on earth with an infinite love, and the evidence for this truth is endless. From the unchanging, unbroken certainty of the Bible, to the countless Christians who have believed in Jesus through every hardship imaginable, to my own experiences with God and the undeniable closeness of my relationship with him, there is such a staggering amount of support for the works of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit that one would have to be blind to not see that he is real. He exhibited perfect love by giving up his own Son, the ultimate sacrifice. He died at the hands of those he came to save, in order to grant life to anyone and everyone who chooses to follow him. This is the truth that has changed my life and saved my soul forever, knowing that God loves me enough to humble himself to the point of death. 

Why Am I Reading This?

What is your story about? And no, I’m not asking what happens to who. I’m asking why am I reading this? Why, dear writer, is this worth my time? It’s not a trick question; you don’t have to come up with a clever or profound reply. (Often the simplest answers are the most profound.)

Why did you take so much trouble to write this? Were you trying to tell me something? Than say it. Did you want me to escape with you to a beautiful new world? Then show me, show me why that world is worth going to. Show me what makes it new and different. Show me beauty. Use the right words, the lovely words. You can ramble all you want as long as you use the right words. Give every word a purpose.

Or perhaps it was because of the characters. Do you, dear writer, love your characters?

Why?

What makes you love them so much? Is it the fact that they had a PBJ for lunch or that they had a history lesson? I doubt it. Millions of people have had PBJs. Billions have had history lessons. What makes your character any different? Why are they any more special to you than a stranger you pass in the parking lot?

I know that character feels pain. Deep pain. I know they feel inexpressible joy and strange discomfort and guilt and envy and suspicion. Make me feel that way too. People don’t care if ten humans in Latvia die. (Some of them pretend to care. Fewer still try to care. But they seldom succeed.) But you know what people do care about? If their best friend dies. If their soulmate is lost forever. If they’re separated from their child for life.

Why is that? What makes that best friend any more meaningful to a person than twenty lovely people far away? Can you make me care about your character as much as I care for my child? Or will they be just another human to me?

Look, I know your characters are valuable. They have more depth and worth than even you know. But unless you can express that worth to me, I’ll never see it. Your words, every one you utter, must be gems, or I’ll never grasp how good your characters are. They exist in a terrible, precious world and the only thing between them and me is your brain, your fingers, and your pen.

"Then get to it."

Hannah's Horrid Happenings

 Wrote this children's story hurriedly once, then re-read it recently and loved it! I'm thinking about illustrating it... What are your thoughts? Comment below!

“Get up, Hannah. Today is school picture day.”

But Hannah didn’t want to. She was having a perfectly delightful dream about little men shaped like pills, and that was much more interesting than whatever picture day. The pill men were rolling around in a line, putting on a show for her, and they looked so funny.  Mum pulled the covers off of Hannah. She pulled Hannah off of the bed.

“Mummmmyyyy…” Hannah moaned. “You’re making me forget my dream.”

Mum didn't care. Grown ups are like that. She left the room without apologizing, or saying good morning or trying to help her remember her dream.

Soon Mum came back into the room.

“Get dressed, Hannah. Today is school picture day.”

But Hannah didn’t want to. She was writing down a perfectly brilliant idea she’d had about a story with a very bad weasel, and that was much more interesting than school whatever day. The weasel could be working for the bad guys, and he could drop off the ransom note, and then maybe –

Mum closed Hannah’s notebook on her. She dropped the clothes on Hannah’s lap.

“Mummmyyy…! You’re making me forget my idea.”

Her mum made her get dressed. She made her wear a stiff white shirt and a skirt. She even made her braid her hair! Yesterday Mum had let her wear galoshes and her pink jacket, and let her keep her hair down. That was a perfectly good day. This was a perfectly horrid day.

After breakfast she tried to explain all the kinds of fairies to Morgan. "There's flower fairies, butterfly fairies, water fairies, um... and then there's..."
Morgan wasn't listening. He was trying to put his face into his bib.

"Wash up, Hannah. It's school picture day."

But Hannah didn't want to. Fairies were much more interesting than school whatever day. She stuck out her tongue at Mum and told Morgan, "There's night fairies, and.... umm..."

Mum scolded Hannah. She made Hannah wash her hands and face.

“Mummmmyyyyy…! You’re making me forget the last kind of fairy.”

Obviously Mum didn’t care about anything. What a perfectly horrid day.

She had a perfectly horrid ride to school. She had to sit in a perfectly horrid stool and sit up perfectly straight.

"Say cheese," said the happy picture man.

Hannah crossed her arms and made a grumpy face. She was not going to smile for the camera. School picture day had ruined a perfectly good day.

The man pulled a funny face that wasn’t at all funny. She scowled at the picture man. His head looked like a pill. His face looked like a weasel. His shirt looked like a bib.

Just then, Hannah's day got perfectly wonderful. She remembered her dream. She remembered her idea. She remembered the last kind of fairy. She gasped in delight.

Click.

“Lovely,” said the picture man, smiling down at his camera. “Next?”