Help Your Brothers
America
It
was an interesting first date. A few months back, I got together for
dinner with a woman I’d met at a party. She was an attractive,
intelligent, successful 36-year-old, and we had a lot in common. As our
entrees arrived, she asked how I had gotten involved in writing about
the intersection of secular culture and faith. I cheekily told her that
I’d been immersed in the former my whole life and that my connection to
the latter had been formed by a deep commitment to an esoteric school of
thought I had developed called “Life’s Fist, My Face.”
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