Personal Blogs

"La vraie compassion, c’est d’aimer ce qui est inachevé en l’autre."

French Proverb

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In the realm of British football, there exists a notable player who remarkably navigated an extensive career without ever receiving a red card—a symbol of immediate dismissal typically reserved for foul play. This anecdote serves as a metaphor for life, where we find ourselves on a level playing field dotted with both clean and dirty players. This morning, I found myself contemplating the latter and was reminded of the French expression "esprit de l'escalier," or staircase wit. This phrase captures the peculiar frustration of thinking of the perfect witty retort only after the moment has passed, hinting, perhaps, at an underlying selfish motive.

Recently, a seemingly mundane interaction at the supermarket brought this concept to life in a different light. As I chatted with the young cashier processing my groceries, I was oblivious to the kind old woman in line behind me, who was observing our exchange with a smile of approval. It wasn't until I had completed my transaction and was leaving that I noticed her expression. After all, we are all damaged good and scars from dirty players, and we all need compassion.

This encounter lingered in my mind for days, her compassionate smile replaying like a comforting melody. It struck me then that I had missed an opportunity to extend my kindness to her as well. In that moment, I coined my own phrase: "compassion de l'escalier"—the realization of a missed opportunity to offer a kind word, coming to me only as I metaphorically descended the stairs of the moment.

From this reflective experience, I learned the importance of proactively offering kindness, whether through words or even a simple smile to a stranger. Life, much like a bustling supermarket, is filled with fleeting moments where kindness can be a beacon of encouragement. It's crucial to seize these opportunities before it’s too late, ensuring that our days are marked not by missed chances but by moments of shared humanity.

Note: The French proverb translated is  "True compassion is to love what is unfinished in the other person." It’s a beautiful sentiment about accepting and loving others for who they are, including their imperfections and unfinished aspects. Instead of only loving people for their strengths or their completeness, this quote emphasizes finding compassion for the parts of them that are still growing and evolving.

" But when you host a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, 

and the blind, and you will be blessed. Since they cannot repay you,

 you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

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In the calm of a Filipino evening, my wife and I were dining quietly when a scene unfolded before us that brought to life the teachings of Christ in a most vivid manner. A group of women and children, accompanied by two men clad in the pristine traditional barong, arrived at the venue. One of these gentlemen made his way to us and introduced himself. As our conversation briefly continued, it was revealed that they were part of an evangelical group, and these kind souls had taken it upon themselves to provide a special evening for single parents and their children.

This gesture struck a chord deep within me, echoing the words of Jesus from Luke 14:12-14 about the blessing of offering hospitality not for reciprocation from the wealthy or familial, but from a selfless heart to those who cannot repay: the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. These words champion the Christian virtues of compassion and humility, urging us to extend kindness to the least among us, ensuring they are not forgotten or overlooked.

Consider the blind, navigating a world designed for the sighted, their day-to-day resilience transforming ordinary tasks into triumphs of the human spirit. Or the poor, whose struggles with economic hardship are not just about financial deprivation but a fight for dignity against societal indifference. And the physically disabled, who face a world rife with barriers yet often surpass them with a strength and grace that redefine what is possible.

These encounters are not just about understanding different life challenges but are profoundly spiritual, deepening our empathy and forging a real connection with the essence of gospel teachings. By inviting and embracing those who face such adversities, we not only provide practical support but also weave a fabric of community that uplifts everyone involved, reflecting the core of what it means to live out one’s faith.

In the end, our experience that evening was a reminder of the powerful impact of witnessing selfless acts of kindness, as advocated by Christ. It challenges us to live beyond our comfort zones and reach out to those in need, thereby enriching our spiritual journey and deepening our human experience. This is the true essence of Christian living, a vivid illustration of faith in action, where the simple act of dining together becomes a profound lesson in humanity and humility.

"Amy Dunne in Gillian Flynn’s "Gone Girl" represents a different kind of victimhood. 

She's a fabricator, using the guise of the victim to manipulate everyone around her."

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The Many Faces of Victimhood

Victimhood in literature isn't black and white—it's painted in shades of Gray. Characters may be victims of society, circumstance, or their own choices. These portrayals make us think critically about blame, responsibility, and resilience.

Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird" provides a clear window into the life of Tom Robinson, a man crushed under the weight of racial injustice. This story isn't just about Tom’s suffering; it’s a mirror showing the ugly truths of societal discrimination. It makes us ask: How many real-life Toms have we overlooked in our own world?

Contrastingly, Amy Dunne in Gillian Flynn’s "Gone Girl" represents a different kind of victimhood. She's a fabricator, using the guise of the victim to manipulate everyone around her. Her story makes us wary of the power of media and public perception, highlighting how easily truth can be twisted.

Literature provides a safe space to explore our reactions to victimhood. For instance, Shakespeare’s Shylock from "The Merchant of Venice" straddles the lines between victim and villain. His portrayal asks us to empathize with his suffering while condemning his vengefulness, offering a complex study of how victimhood can affect a person's choices.

But stories of victimhood aren't just cautionary tales or sad stories; they also show us the potential for growth and change.

In "The Color Purple" by Alice Walker, Celie transforms from a passive victim to an active protagonist who takes control of her life narrative. Her story is a powerful testament to human resilience and the ability to reclaim one’s voice against all odds. It shows readers that victimhood, while defining, doesn’t have to be permanent

In our current social climate, discussions around victimhood are more prominent than ever. Literature acts as a conversation starter, providing perspectives that might be too challenging to confront directly in real life. These stories foster a deeper understanding of societal structures, personal responsibility, and the complexities of human emotions.

Books that explore themes of victimhood don’t just entertain us; they educate and transform us. They help us understand the balance between empathy and critical thinking, between recognizing genuine suffering and questioning manipulative narratives. As we navigate through these stories, we learn more about humanity and, ultimately, about ourselves. Literature doesn’t just reflect what it means to be human; it challenges us to think deeper about the lives we observe and the choices we make. In the end, these books make us more human.

"Dragonfly catcher,

how far have you gone today

in your wandering?"

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Chiyo-ni's haiku about a child catching dragonflies isn't just an image of playful innocence; it also captures a poignant moment tinged with personal loss. This poem opens a window into the delicate balance between the fleeting and the eternal, a theme deeply embedded in the tradition of haiku. Such poems, often rooted in the cycles of nature, serve as a lens through which we view life's ephemeral beauty and inevitable decline.

Matsuo Bashō, in his final haiku, writes from a place of illness and contemplation:

"On a journey, ill,
my dream goes wandering
over withered fields."

Here, Bashō contemplates the end of life with a serene acceptance, portraying his spirit's journey across a landscape both literal and metaphorical. His "withered fields" not only signify the end of life's Vigor but also suggest a passage into a new form of existence, a theme that resonates deeply with those of us contemplating what lies beyond this earthly sojourn.

Yosa Buson's reflection on mortality is juxtaposed against a backdrop of natural beauty:

"The end of it all,
and weeping, in the midst of
the flowers blooming."

Buson captures the paradox of experiencing grief amidst life’s ongoing beauty, emphasizing the profound sadness of loss alongside the persistence of life's cycles. This tension between joy and sorrow, creation and decay, challenges us to find meaning and perhaps hope in the enduring rhythms of nature.

Kobayashi Issa, who experienced significant personal tragedy, often explored the fragility of existence:

"This world of dew
is a world of dew—
and yet, and yet..."

Issa's repeated "and yet" serves as a powerful counter to the acceptance of life's transience. It suggests a defiance or a hope beyond the apparent finality of the "dew," a metaphor for the fleeting moments of life.

Santōka Taneda’s haiku reflects a meditative acceptance of life’s offerings:

"My begging bowl—
accepts the falling leaves
of this life."

"Truly, truly, I say to you that an hour is coming, and now is, 

when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God, 

and those having heard will live.

John 5:28,20. BSB.

"And so, we keep seeking happiness—not because we are naïve, 

but because it is written into the fabric of who we are."

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Searching for a movie that did not feature, sex, violence and occult, we came across the refreshing  Indian film Bajrangi Bhaijaan last night. In it, we witness a heart-warming tale of humanity triumphing over borders and prejudice. The story follows Pawan, a kind-hearted Indian man, as he embarks on a perilous journey to return Shahida, a mute Pakistani girl stranded in India, to her family. The narrative takes the audience through moments of intense struggle and emotional depth, culminating in a deeply satisfying and joyous resolution. The final scene, where Shahida miraculously regains her voice to call out to Pawan, solidifies the film’s happy ending—a celebration of love, kindness, and unity triumphing over adversity.

Yet, as the credits roll and the emotions linger, one might wonder why such stories resonate so universally. Why do we crave happy endings, not only in films like Bajrangi Bhaijaan but also in the books we read and the tales we pass down through generations? This universal longing for happiness raises profound existential questions. Are these narratives merely escapism, or do they reveal something deeper about our human nature? C.S. Lewis, the Christian apologist and author, offered a compelling answer: perhaps our longing for happiness points to a reality beyond this life.

From birth, humans gravitate toward joy. As infants, we cry to have our needs met, smiling instinctively when we are comforted. This innate drive doesn’t diminish with age; it evolves. We seek happiness in relationships, careers, art, and faith. Even our consumption of stories, whether in books or films, reflects this longing. We resonate with characters who struggle and yearn for resolution, just as we do in our own lives. Their triumphs reassure us that happiness is attainable.

Yet, reality often tells a different story. Suffering, failure, and loss are woven into the human experience. Life does not always tie itself into neat conclusions. Tragedy strikes unexpectedly, and unresolved pain lingers. In this tension between our longing for happiness and the harshness of life, a profound existential question emerges: why are we so drawn to happiness if it is so fleeting?

C.S. Lewis observed that humans possess desires that no earthly experience can fully satisfy. We crave happiness, permanence, and fulfilment, yet everything in this life is transient. Lewis argued that this incongruity suggests we were not made for this world alone. As he famously wrote, “If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.”

This perspective aligns with many religious and philosophical traditions that view earthly life as a precursor to something greater. The Bible speaks of a future where God will wipe away every tear, and pain and sorrow will cease (Revelation 21:4). In this view, our yearning for happiness is not a flaw but a clue—a whisper of eternity embedded in our souls.

Stories like Bajrangi Bhaijaan, with their happy endings, play a vital role in reminding us of this deeper reality. They echo the structure of hope and redemption central to human experience. When we see the hero overcome adversity or love conquer hate, we are reminded of the possibility that our own struggles might not be in vain. Stories offer a glimpse of what Lewis called the "far-off country," the eternal joy for which we are made.

Even tragedies, which do not end happily, serve this purpose in a different way. They evoke a longing for justice, reconciliation, or healing that was left unfulfilled. This dissatisfaction points us beyond the here and now, awakening in us the desire for a world where such wrongs are made right.

Why are we programmed for happiness? Evolutionary psychology might argue that our pursuit of joy ensures survival and reproduction, while philosophy might suggest that happiness is the highest good, as Aristotle believed. But these explanations, while helpful, fail to address the profound depth of human longing.

Our programming for happiness seems spiritual in nature, tied to our capacity for love, creativity, and transcendence. It is not mere instinct; it is the signature of a Creator who designed us with eternity in mind. As Augustine of Hippo wrote, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.

While happy endings in stories offer comfort, real life is rarely so tidy. Yet this does not diminish the importance of our longing for happiness. Instead, it invites us to see life as a journey—a story still being written. Just as a novel’s climax often follows its darkest moments, our struggles may be preparing us for a resolution beyond this life.

Whether one believes in an eternal future or not, the human longing for happiness remains a profound and universal truth. It drives our stories, shapes our choices, and gives meaning to our lives. If Lewis was right, and our desires point us toward another world, then every happy ending we encounter is a signpost, urging us to lift our gaze beyond the temporary to the eternal.

And so, we keep seeking happiness—not because we are naïve, but because it is written into the fabric of who we are. Perhaps, as Lewis suggested, this quest is not merely for happiness but for the source of all joy itself. For in the end, every story is a reflection of the greatest story: a journey from longing to fulfilment, from brokenness to redemption, and from time into eternity.

“And Jesus said to him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with Me in Paradise"  Luke 23:43 (BSB).

 "The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist."

Charles Baudelaire

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The problem is that we have believed the oldest lie

Tell me this, why is there so much evil in a world where there is much good? Why do we use the word evil if we are just dancing to our DNA? The word evil has no place if we are accidents of evolution. Something sinister is going on.

*****

In the quiet recesses of human history, morality was a compass rooted in the sacred. Guided by the belief in a higher power, humanity once grappled with the existence of good and evil as realities woven into the fabric of existence. Yet as the centuries rolled forward, the Enlightenment's clarion call proclaimed the triumph of reason and the liberation of mankind from the so-called shackles of superstition. God was declared obsolete, and with Him, the devil was dismissed as a relic of primitive imagination. In this brave new world, man stood alone, master of his own destiny. But in the details of this self-proclaimed enlightenment, the devil quietly lingered.

The modern age prides itself on its achievements—science, technology, and individual freedom are celebrated as hallmarks of human progress. Yet the moral infrastructure that once underpinned civilization has frayed. Gratitude, once a cornerstone of community and faith, has eroded into entitlement. The modern self sees itself as the centre of the universe, its insatiable desires dressed up as personal fulfilment. What was once condemned as vice is now marketed as virtue under the guise of self-care and self-expression.

But can humanity truly be enlightened if it loses sight of its own darkness? The rejection of God and demons has not eradicated evil—it has merely blinded us to its presence. By dismissing moral absolutes, we have unmoored ourselves from the concept of sin. Yet evil persists, thriving in our apathy, selfishness, and pursuit of pleasure. The devil, it seems, is no longer an external tempter but has found a home within the human heart.

Gratitude, the antidote to pride and selfishness, has become a rarity in this age of excess. We consume without reflection, demand without humility, and live as though the world owes us its riches. Ingratitude breeds discontent, and discontent gives birth to bitterness. It is no coincidence that, as gratitude diminishes, so too does goodness. Selfishness, that most insidious of evils, fills the void where compassion and selflessness once thrived.

Goodness, once a virtue celebrated in religious and philosophical traditions alike, has been reduced to a hollow concept. It is no longer about moral character or sacrifice but about optics—how one appears to the world rather than who one is at the core. Acts of charity are often transactional, performed for social clout rather than out of genuine love for others. And when goodness becomes performative, it loses its power to transform.

At the heart of modern man’s moral decline lies the unquenchable thirst for pleasure. Hedonism, once condemned as the enemy of the soul, is now the creed of the age. In our pursuit of happiness, we have sacrificed meaning. The quick dopamine hit of instant gratification has replaced the deep satisfaction of a life well-lived. Yet the pursuit of pleasure, like all idols, demands sacrifices. Relationships, integrity, and even our own mental health are laid on its altar.

But pleasure, unmoored from purpose, leaves us hollow. The more we consume, the less satisfied we become. And in this endless cycle of desire and disappointment, the devil whispers his lie: "You are free." You can choose what is good and bad.

“For God knows that in the day you eat of it, your eyes will be opened and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” Genesis 3:5 (BSB).

The Enlightenment’s promise was that man, freed from the chains of religion, would ascend to moral and intellectual heights. But what has been the fruit of this liberation? Wars more devastating than any before, inequalities that deepen even as we preach equality, and a planet groaning under the weight of human excess. We are blinded by our own actions, unable to see that our rebellion against God has not led to freedom but to bondage—to greed, pride, and a host of evils that masquerade as progress.

Without God, we lose the very foundation for morality. In rejecting the divine, we have also rejected the devil—but not his influence. For evil does not cease to exist simply because we refuse to name it. The devil, cunning as ever, thrives in the details of our self-deception.

In the end, the problem is not that mankind has become too enlightened to believe in God or the devil. The problem is that we have believed the oldest lie: that we can be like gods, defining good and evil for ourselves. This hubris, this rejection of the divine order, is the root of our moral decay.

Yet even in this bleak landscape, there remains hope. For as long as we have the capacity to reflect, to question, and to seek, we have the capacity to change. True enlightenment lies not in the denial of God but in the recognition that we are not the measure of all things. It lies in humility, in the willingness to acknowledge our dependence on something greater than ourselves.

Perhaps the devil’s greatest triumph is not in the overt evils we commit but in the subtle erosion of our sense of the sacred. To combat this, we must reclaim gratitude, rediscover goodness, and reorient our desires toward what is eternal rather than fleeting. For in the details of our lives—the small acts of kindness, the quiet moments of reflection, the choices we make daily—we can resist the devil’s influence and realign ourselves with the divine.

In doing so, we find not only morality but meaning. We become, not gods, but truly human—creatures capable of love, sacrifice, and a goodness that reflects the image of the Creator. And in this lies our ultimate hope: that the darkness is not the end, but a prelude to light.

"The mosque is far away, let's do this instead, let's make a weeping child smile."

The Poet, Nida Fazli, reminds us of the meaningful acts of kindness that we can perform in our daily lives. 

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I was thinking of the contrast of this today in the wake of many so-called Christian organisations faced with crippling lawsuits due to their careless dealing of paedophilia in their midst I have been refreshed this morning reading about George Müller.

George Müller, a remarkable example of someone who walked the walk in his Christian faith. As a Christian evangelist and the director of the Ashley Down orphanage in Bristol, England. He cared for the needs of over 10,000 orphans during his walk on earth. He also established 117 schools that provided Christian education to more than 120,000 children. His faith and dedication were truly inspiring.

But here’s the point that I find absent in many religions today. George solely relied on prayer and God's provision to meet the needs of the children under his care. Müller's story is a testament to the power of faith and compassion.

Where does all the money go that’s donated to these multimillion-dollar organisations that invest in media centres and corporate buildings when the fundamental paradigm in being human as a Christian is to “look after Orphans and widows in their tribulation.

“Pure and undefiled religion before our God and Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress…” James 1:27.

Go on, please don’t tell me your religion fails in this.

Job 29:12, "I rescued the poor and the fatherless who had none to assist them.

"It is not down on any map; true places never are." 

Herman Melville

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Pothik (পথিক, Bengali) A traveller or wayfarer. 

 It evokes a poetic sense of wandering, 

both literal and metaphorical, 

as part of life’s journey.

Yesterday, as the sun dipped low over the west coast of Scotland, its farewell beams invited me on a drive. The beach was tranquil, save for the soothing strains of reggae music drifting from a young couple’s radio as they left the sands.

I greeted them, as is my custom, stepping momentarily into the shoes of those who have often been "othered" in a land not theirs. The husband’s eyes sparkled with the day’s happiness as he shared their small celebration, “We have just had a Barbeque.” It was zero degrees, but that never seemed to matter to them

 “Bangladesh,” they told me when I inquired about their origins. I wished them well on their journey through life, a silent prayer blessing their path as I continued my own walk along the shore.

This encounter lingered in my mind, a vivid illustration of what it means to be a Pothik—a wayfarer not just on the physical roads but on the greater journey of life itself. Our paths cross with others for brief moments, yet these intersections are rich with potential for mutual understanding and connection.

This morning, as I read through Romans 14, the scripture seemed to echo my thoughts from the previous day: “Why, then, do you judge your brother? Or why do you belittle your brother? For we will all stand before God’s judgment seat... every knee will bow... every tongue will confess... So then, each of us will give an account of himself to God.” (NIV).

The words resonated deeply, weaving together the day’s physical journey with the spiritual path we all tread. One day, we will each face our Creator, and the tapestry of our lives—each thread a choice made, each color a deed done—will be unfurled before Him. It is a sobering thought, yet it carries a promise too, urging us to live with compassion and understanding, mindful of the ultimate journey that each Pothik undertakes—towards truth, towards reconciliation, towards home.

• NIV – New International Version

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"Fūki no tou, ai suru ko no kao shirazu"

"The grief of the wind and tree, not knowing the face of a beloved child."

Japanese proverb

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During my time in a European country with some Christian friends, I observed that one husband often turned to look at women who passed by. Eventually, I mentioned to his wife, "It seems challenging for some Christian men to resist looking at all these women around."

She responded, "They don’t look."

I bring this up to highlight that there can be early warning signs when you attach yourself to a partner who exhibits such characteristics. These signs can be red flags that things may not go well in the future.

The Bible principle in Matthew 5:28, which reads, "But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman to lust after her has already committed adultery with her in his heart," may seem outdated to some. However, it's worth considering the potential outcomes of disregarding this principle.

Imagine you marry a man you have fallen in love with, and two years later, you have a baby. Sometime afterward, he succumbs to the lure of internet dating sites. One evening, he comes home, packs his bags, and tells you he is leaving. The child, in a traumatic episode, clings to his father’s leg, screaming, "Don’t go, Daddy, don’t go."

As a former Christian shepherd, I have comforted partners on several occasions who have experienced such trauma. Not only are you left to raise a child in the aftermath, but as the child grows into adulthood, emotional scars can begin to surface. And the grown-up child has an ache that no medication can cure. 

The grief of the wind and tree, not knowing the face of a beloved child.

This saying warns against compromising one's moral standards, suggesting that such actions, like adultery, can blind one to the needs and wellbeing of those they most cherish.

Bible quotes from the BSB.

"Tell me what you own, and I'll tell you who you are."

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“What is it I possess that would best define who I am?”

The day began like any other day on February 1, 2003, when the Space Shuttle Columbia was scheduled to complete its 28th mission. But at 9:00 AM Eastern Time as Columbia re-entered the Earth's atmosphere, it took a devastating turn due to a previously undetected flaw.

During launching, a piece of the shuttles insolation struck the left wing, damaging the thermal protection system. This apparent minor flaw became catastrophic upon re-entry as superheated gases penetrated and undermined the wing, leading to the shuttle’s disintegration over Texas. All seven crew members were tragically lost, and fragments of the shuttle scattered over a great landmass.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, it emerged among the debris a Runrig CD belonging to Laurel Clark, the operational surgeon. For those unfamiliar with the Scottish Celtic rock group, they have music and lyrics that deeply connect with universal themes such as migration, spiritualty, attachment to the land and the search for meaning.

Having read about Laurel Clark's spirit, I can see how this music may have deeply resonated with her, known for her adventurous spirit and appreciation for understanding the universe we inhabit.

Runrig's Stamping Ground was the album that emerged from the wreckage. Lyrics that explore the human spirit with the intertwining of Celtic rhythms that evoke both the personal and our collective journeys. Tracks like “Running to the Light,” “The Stamping Ground,” and “Wall of China” speak to resilience and the search for meaning, themes that undoubtedly mirrored Clark's own quest in the cosmos. As an astronaut, she was part of a pioneering effort to explore beyond Earth, to understand humanity’s place in the vast expanse of the universe. It is easy to imagine her listening to Runrig’s evocative melodies while gazing at the Earth from orbit, finding solace and inspiration in the music’s grounding yet expansive themes.

The recovery of the CD also serves as a poignant reminder of what is left behind in the wake of tragedy. Laurel Clark and her fellow crew members perished in the pursuit of knowledge and exploration; their lives woven into the fabric of human progress. Yet, small artifacts like the Runrig album allow us to connect to them on a personal level, to understand their loves, hopes, and dreams.

At this stage of my life, with cancers eating away at my existence, I ponder on that CD and legacy Laurel left behind, asking myself, “What is it I possess that would best define who I am?”

This question is as profound as what it means to be human. Here, I merge the two ideas of this book I am writing, What it Means to Be Human: A Writer's Notebook. I conclude this because, packed into my series of personal essays are what defines me: my spirituality, my cares, wisdom gained, wisdom lost and what really matters when we shift away from the fickleness of human pursuit and vanity, as I run towards the light in my endeavour to embrace life’s meaning and strive for the promised land.

This reflection does not merely chronicle a physical journey but also captures a spiritual sojourn towards understanding our place in the cosmos. It highlights our enduring search for meaning and connection—both to fellow humans and the Creator—underscoring that what we leave behind may be small in physical form but vast in symbolic significance.

In pondering the legacies, we craft and the artifacts of our lives, we find that our true measure is not just in the paths we tread but, in the light, we leave behind for others to follow.

Running to the Light: Runrig. Running To The Light

"What is your servant, that you should notice a dead dog like me?"

Good morning friends from around the word. I am on ChatGPT, searching for a word to describe the overwhelming feeling of loneliness that surfaces during this time of year for those who are alone for various reasons. Our German friends have a term, "Weltschmerz," which describes a deep sadness or world-weariness brought on by the realization that the world cannot meet one's emotional or idealistic needs. It is often tied to reflective or lonely moments, particularly during significant times of the year.

ChatGPT then asks, "How do you plan to use this word, Jim?" As I go to answer and have a dialogue with this cyber character, it feels like some kind of parasocial attachment one might have with a cartoon character. I have to pinch myself as I’m reminded that this is not a person. But it teaches me something; we all yearn for connection.

At this time of year, that feeling is exponential, and my heart goes out to those who are alone and experiencing the ache of involuntary solitude. I’ve been there. I'm sure we all have at one time or another. 

I woke up today conscious of those out there who suffer from Weltschmerz.

*****

"What is your servant, that you should notice a dead dog like me?"

The words, "What is your servant, that you should notice a dead dog like me?" are the words of Mephibosheth, the son of Jonathan, who was crippled as a child due to an accident. As an outlier in society, he was invited to sit at the king David's table ; treating Mephibosheth as one of his own sons. This act of kindness and  compassion is a powerful testimony of empathy  towards others. 2 Samuel 9:8.

"All our dreams can come true if we have the courage to pursue them."

Walt Disney

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Happy New Year - ABBA | Karolina Protsenko - Violin Cover

This scene is reminiscent of the stories found in various books where young protagonists, instead of succumbing to a defeatist spirit, rise to the occasion and chase their dreams with relentless determination.

In the vivid world of children's literature, tales of young dreamers overcoming adversities to achieve their aspirations are not just captivating; they offer profound life lessons that resonate across ages. These stories often begin with protagonists facing daunting odds, yet through a blend of imagination, grit, and a refusal to succumb to defeat, these characters emerge as beacons of hope and determination.

Take, for example, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's "The Little Prince." This enchanting novella introduces us to a young prince whose interstellar journey brings him to Earth. Through encounters with various grown-ups, each absorbed in their mundane and narrow-minded pursuits, the prince’s adventures underline the power of questioning and the importance of seeing with the heart. His relentless pursuit to understand love and loss, responsibility, and the essence of human connections speaks to the reader’s own journey in the world.

Similarly, in E.B. White's "Charlotte's Web," we meet Wilbur, a pig who defies the usual fate of farm animals with the help of his clever friend, Charlotte the spider. This story isn't just about survival; it's about the power of friendship and the ingenious strategies that can arise from genuine, heartfelt connections. Charlotte’s web spins messages that ultimately convince the human world of Wilbur’s uniqueness, showcasing how courage and creativity can alter one's destiny.

Astrid Lindgren’s "Pippi Longstocking" presents a heroine who is the epitome of resilience and independence. Pippi's adventures and misadventures, characterized by her unconventional approaches to problems and her unyielding spirit, demonstrate that life’s challenges can be met with joy and boundless energy. Her strength and self-sufficiency encourage young readers to believe in themselves and to embrace their individuality while having a blast along the way.

In "Bridge to Terabithia" by Katherine Paterson, we explore the realm of deep friendship through Jess and Leslie, who create a magical kingdom called Terabithia in the woods. This sanctuary is a refuge from their personal troubles and the bullies at school. Their make-believe world, brimming with quests and adventures, is not just an escape but a foundation that teaches them about bravery, kindness, and the bitter realities of loss. It is a poignant reminder of how imagination and friendship can be transformative forces.

Louis Sachar’s "Holes" follows Stanley Yelnats, who is unfairly sentenced to dig holes at a detention camp. The story intricately weaves family history, a curse, and the quest for redemption. Stanley’s journey is a complex narrative of persistence and courage that highlights how understanding the past can unlock a brighter, more just future.

Lastly, "The Boxcar Children" by Gertrude Chandler Warner tells the story of four orphaned siblings who, rather than being daunted by their circumstances, transform an abandoned boxcar into a home. Their adventures and mysteries underline the themes of resilience and mutual support. This series is a testament to the fact that with unity and determination, even the most challenging situations can be turned into opportunities for growth and happiness.

Each of these books, in its unique way, underscores the belief that life's obstacles are not insurmountable. Instead, they are challenges that, when approached with a spirit of adventure and learning, can lead to fulfilling and triumphant outcomes. These stories teach us that with determination, creativity, and a touch of daring, anyone can change their stars

"Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure:

Married in haste, we may repent at leisure."

The Old Bachelor by William Congreve

Image generated by Microsoft Copilot

Let’s talk about the idea of hitching our waggon to a sociopath. On the surface, it might seem unlikely, but sociopaths are often incredibly charming and manipulative, making it easy for someone to fall into a relationship with them. Literature offers us plenty of examples that show how these relationships unfold—and why they rarely end well.

One of the most discussed traits of sociopaths is their charm. They have a way of making you feel special, as if you’re the only person in the world who understands them. Think about Amy Dunne from Gone Girl. She’s magnetic, intelligent, and captivating. At first glance, Nick seems lucky to be with her. But her charm is just a tool to mask her calculating, manipulative nature.

This same pattern appears in Rebecca, where Maxim de Winter’s sophistication and confidence draw his young wife into a marriage fraught with secrets. He doesn’t seem like a sociopath initially, but his deceit and emotional manipulation unravel her sense of security.

What makes this so dangerous? Sociopaths create an illusion of love and security that’s hard to resist, especially for young people who may idealize romantic relationships.

Eventually, the cracks begin to show. A sociopath’s deceit and lack of empathy start to affect the relationship. They might lie to control you, hide critical truths, or twist reality to suit their narrative.

Take Perry Wright in Big Little Lies. On the surface, he’s the perfect husband—handsome, wealthy, and seemingly devoted to his wife, Celeste. But behind closed doors, he’s controlling and abusive, using his charm to isolate her from the truth and from seeking help.

In Rebecca, Maxim’s deceit about his first wife’s death traps his young bride in a cycle of insecurity and fear. The sociopath’s need for control is relentless, and their partner often becomes emotionally drained, questioning their own perceptions and decisions.

How does this affect the partner? They lose trust—not just in their spouse but in themselves. Once you’re doubting your own reality, it’s hard to see a way out.

Let’s face it: it doesn’t look good. Every story involving a sociopathic partner shows us that these relationships are inherently one-sided. Sociopaths lack empathy, which means they cannot form the kind of deep, mutual connection necessary for a healthy marriage. Their needs always come first.

In Gone Girl, Amy’s manipulative schemes nearly destroy Nick’s life. She doesn’t care about his feelings or well-being; her only concern is maintaining control over him. Similarly, Tom Ripley in The Talented Mr. Ripley uses people as stepping stones for his own ambition, showing no remorse for the harm he causes.

Even when the sociopath isn’t outright dangerous, as in Rebecca, their inability to form honest, equal relationships leads to misery and isolation. If one partner holds all the power, it’s not a marriage—it’s a prison.

 This is an important question. Why would someone stay in a toxic relationship like this? Sociopaths are incredibly good at manipulation. They know how to make their partner feel dependent, guilty, or even afraid to leave. In Big Little Lies, Perry isolates Celeste, convincing her that she’s powerless without him. He uses charm and societal expectations to maintain the illusion of a perfect marriage.

Moreover, sociopaths often create cycles of abuse followed by affection, making it harder for their partners to break free. This emotional rollercoaster can leave someone feeling trapped, even if they recognize the harm being done.

So, how do you avoid falling into a relationship with a sociopath? The red flags are often subtle at first. Sociopaths are skilled at hiding their true nature, but certain patterns can give them away:

1. Overwhelming Charm
   If someone seems too good to be true, they might be. Charm is often a tool for manipulation.
2. Inconsistent Stories
   Pay attention to contradictions in their behaviour or past. Do they avoid taking responsibility? Do they twist the truth to suit their needs? Do they lie?
3. Isolation Tactics
   Sociopaths often try to cut you off from friends and family, making you more dependent on them or use it as a punishment because they don't get first place.
4. Lack of Empathy
   Do they seem indifferent to the feelings of others? A partner who dismisses your emotions or refuses to engage in meaningful dialogue is a serious red flag.
5. Control and Domination
   Are they overly critical or controlling? Do they try to dictate your choices or make you feel guilty for asserting independence? Or, do they gaslight you or others in order to shine?

The novels we’ve discussed—Gone Girl, Rebecca, Big Little Lies, and others—highlight the dangers of marrying a sociopath. These stories show us that while such relationships may start with passion and excitement, they almost always end in pain, isolation, or worse.

But they also serve as reminders of the importance of self-awareness and support systems. Trust your instincts. If something feels wrong, it probably is. Reach out to trusted friends or family, and don’t be afraid to seek help from a professional if you feel trapped.

Final Thoughts

Marriage is supposed to be a partnership built on mutual love, trust, and respect. When one partner lacks empathy and thrives on manipulation, that foundation crumbles. Sociopaths are masters of deception, but their charm and control can only last so long before the truth comes to light.

If there’s one takeaway from these stories, it’s this: no amount of love or loyalty can change a sociopath. It’s better to recognize the signs early and prioritize your own well-being. After all, a healthy relationship is about balance, not domination. Literature gives us a window into these dynamics, allowing us to learn from fictional cautionary tales before experiencing them in real life.

Now there was a man in Maon whose business was in Carmel. He was a very wealthy man with a thousand goats and three thousand sheep, which he was shearing in Carmel. His name was Nabal, and his wife’s name was Abigail. She was an intelligent and beautiful woman, but her husband, a Calebite, was harsh and evil in his dealings I Samuel 25:2 (BSB).