At church, even when I receive the Eucharist and sing songs of the Good King with my friends and family, I feel that same persistent longing, dogging my every step. My heart, God help me, is restless, and has ever been so. What, Jesus, can I do? Write about it, a voice says in my head. Tell that story. But I get so tired. I know my heart is plagued with sin after sin after sin—sins that would appall you, dear reader—and the voice still says Write about that. Don’t hold it in. Watch how even that can bring me glory. Ah, Lord, I’m so weak! And so foolish. I’ve hurt my wife, my children, my
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