The fact that I have hobbies interests you. But the fact that you don’t concerns me.
Yes, I work hard. But my life isn’t defined by my work. My identity is more wrapped up in who I am than what I do. I’m not an inanimate object defined in a sentence, I’m a person.
A person made in the image of God. Made in the image of a God so big He can’t be defined; a God so big generations dared not whisper His name, a God we can describe better than we can identify.
I’m made in that image, I will not be narrowly defined to a one-sentence bio for your convenience. My life won’t fit in 140 characters either.
I am complex and simple. I’m a dad who still likes the input of his dad. I see myself wholly adequately inadequate. I’m perfect to my 4-year old, impossible to my 11-year old, worthy of an eye roll to my 14-year old. I’m still giddy when a woman I met 20 years ago holds my hand, that she still likes me, shocked that she still loves me; I’m inspired by her daily. Amazed that together we still like doing today together. But a single word I am not, cannot, will not. I am less. I am more. I am simple. I am complex.
The fact that I have hobbies interests you. The fact that you don’t concerns me.
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