The chosen.

Growing up Catholic, the idea that God has chosen the elect before he even set to creating our physical forms left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I’ve always been in favor of choice, of people making their own decisions and basking in that warm beautiful glow of free will.

And of course, when I became an atheist, this notion took root and weeded through my barely beating heart.

But ultimately, I’m a writer. And if I look too deeply into my (newly renewed) blood pumping organ, I can feel the idea of knowing and watching and willfully deciding fate at any given time sitting snugly behind my breat bone.

As a creator, I control the created.

As God, he controls our salvation.

I was listening to a podcast about this by Dale Partridge. If you haven’t listened to Real Christianity, I highly recommend you do. The American version of Christianity that runs rampant on every street corner does a poor job of giving followers a real Biblical perspective of the world around us.

And if you’re anything like me, books are the road maps to this life. Good thing, God has written us one.

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