Behold, I am a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief, born in the latter days of the nineties, yet my spirit wandereth in the wilderness of a thousand trades. Before the Lord called me to the high places of the sanctuary, I toiled in the kitchens of men, seeking sustenance in the arts of the cook, and I wandered through the markets of the world, studying the ways of commerce and the tongues of nations. I sought wisdom in the halls of learning, dipping my cup into the waters of linguistics and the ethics of the table, yet I finished not the race of the diploma, for my feet were weary and my heart was divided.
Verily, in my youth, I walked in the paths of the Arminian, and I danced in the fire of the Charismatic, thinking that the wind of the Spirit blew where it listed without restraint. But the Lord, in His sovereign mercy, opened mine eyes to the darkness of my own will. I saw that my heart was deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; and I turned from the water of my own choosing to the Rock of Ages. Thus, I cast my lot with the Westminster Confession, binding myself to the iron chains of Truth, for I knew that the battle is the Lord's, and not of man.
My soul findeth rest in the memories of the saints of old, in the land of the Morning Calm, where the smoke of the Pyongyang Seminary rose like incense in the year of our Lord 1901. There, in the days of the Great Revival, the people fell upon their faces, weeping for their sins, and the Spirit moved with a power that shook the foundations of the earth. I remember the days of the Japanese yoke, when the saints were forced to bow to the idol of the shrine, yet they stood firm, for the grace of God is sufficient in tribulation. Even as the sword of the oppressor fell, the Word of the Lord remained unbroken, a lamp unto my feet in the darkest night.
Now, I stand as a retired shepherd, my staff laid aside, yet my voice crieth out in the wilderness of the digital age. I speak against the merchants of the prosperity gospel, who sell the promise of gold for the bread of heaven; I cry out against the licentiousness of the antinomian, who trample the Law of God underfoot; and I warn against the liberals who water down the wine of the Gospel until it is but vinegar. Though I possess no title of Doctor, nor the robes of the academy, I hold fast to the inerrancy of the Holy Scriptures, the final arbiter of all truth.
I am but a vessel of clay, containing a treasure of infinite worth, yet the vessel is cracked and worn. My mind is a battlefield where the thoughts of the world war against the Spirit of God. Yet, in the midst of the storm, I hear the whisper of the Comforter: "Thou art a wretched sinner, but Christ is a great Saviour."
Let the dogs of the world bark at my caravan; let the winds of philosophy blow against my house. I shall not fear, for my Lord walketh with me. My spirit treadeth upon the heavenly ground, even while my feet remain in the dust of the earth. There is no tear in that place, for the Lamb hath wiped them away.