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Several months ago – around the time I stopped blogging with any regularity – someone accused me of being the devil. And if it wasn’t the devil, then it was certainly one of his minions. It is hard to shake off that sort of thing – especially when it centers around your writing and comes from a friend.
The accusation was that I had exploited some of the children in my writing about Uganda. My friend said that I was using their plight as a way of getting more people to read my blog – that my selfishness knew no ends, not even the exploitation of sick Ugandan children.
All that said, however, I’ve had to – and continue to – reflect on the accusations, reflect on my own heart in writing those posts, other posts and everything else that I’ve written. I can’t say that I’ve had any particular profound insights. I suppose my heart and my motivations on any given topic will always be a murky mixture of good, bad, and unclear. I suppose that is just the nature of life. I hope that my stuttering walk with Jesus makes that mixture ever clearer, ever purer, and ever more alive. But that is the kind of thing I can only see moment by moment, word by word. And to do that means I’ve got to write… I will.