Many have asked for my thoughts on the new film Noah, and although MUCH has already been written about it, and many different critiques have been given, I realize there are still a few out there who are curious as to what I think about this film, so here we go.

I mentioned on my Facebook and Twitter feeds that I liked the film…sort of. This is a very difficult movie, partly because of director Darren Aronofsky’s bold vision and gutsy style. I definitely give the guy credit—he created a film that is wholly his own, wholly his vision. But therein lies the problem.

Much has been made about the director’s apparent atheism. I’ve never met him, so I can’t speak to his religious beliefs with any conclusiveness (I’m wary of people getting their “he’s a Christian” or “he’s an atheist” beliefs from a 30 second sound byte—the answer is usually much more complicated than that), but as a fellow artist, storyteller, and teacher of creativity for 15 years, I have learned one thing for certain. What a person believes ALWAYS comes out in what they create. When you create something—especially something as time consuming and all-encompassing as a feature length movie, you cannot help but put part of your soul into it. Quite often, it is your deep inner man that draws you to that particular story in the first place. That Darren Aronofsky admits that he’s wanted to make the story of Noah since he was young should come as no surprise then, as obviously the story touches on some of the deep places within him.

Unfortunately, the more I’ve thought about this film, the more I am disappointed by it. I really wanted to like this movie, and I was fully willing to deal with the creative license that was sure to come from turning 5 chapters in the Bible into a two-and-a-half hour epic. I am probably more forgiving of creative license than most Christians, simply because I am an artist, and all artists understand and in fact embrace the idea of questions, mystery, and challenging material. So I’m fine with the Nephilim/Rock people/Watchers stuff, even if he turned inherently evil characters (in real life) into the good guys. I’m fine with a darker Noah—I don’t believe for a second that this was an easy thing for him to carry. One of my favorite scenes in the film is after the family has been shut inside the ark, and they must sit there in silence as all of humanity screams for help outside. It is a haunting moment, and it is the kind of scene most Christian films would never include. I’m fine with all the eco-friendliness of the film. Frankly, I don’t understand why so many Christians get so uptight about this—after all, God makes it very clear in Genesis that we are in fact stewards of this planet. I don’t agree with many critics who say the greatest flaw of this film’s humanity is that they eat meat and destroy forests—I thought Aronofsky did a fine job of showing a brutal, degenerate society. No, I am fine with much of the creative license taken in this film. But there is one decision that, in my opinion, steps over the line and turns this from a fine film with some flaws to a film with the potential to be truly dangerous.

If you want to change a Bible story around to fit a particular story you want to tell, go ahead. But don’t you dare make my God look like something He is not. That is the unforgivable offense for me. This is my best friend you’re talking about here, and I will not stand idly by while you make Him look like He’s something He’s not.

I said earlier that what you believe always comes out in what you create. In Noah, Aronofsky’s view towards God is made abundantly clear. This is a God who, if He exists, is distant, unemotional, strict, and unbending. He is a God who almost relishes the chance to destroy humanity for its sins. The ending is particularly problematic, and without spoiling anything, it is problematic because you are left with the question of who is more merciful: God or Noah? The real life answer is, of course, God, who is the most merciful, loving Person in the Universe. But in this movie’s Universe, the question lingers.

All that being said, it should really come as no surprise to anyone that Noah is the film that it is. It is a movie created by a man who obviously is not friends with God yet, who doesn’t yet understand His nature, His goodness, His mercy, His love for humanity, and how awful this decision to destroy His creation must have been for Him. How can we fault a man for misunderstanding something he has never known? I’m not going to rail against Aronofsky because, well, at least he was honest. At least he had a bold vision and made a statement that he felt was true and real. Unfortunately, it is not a statement that most Christians can agree with, which is why everyone is so hot and bothered about this movie. The Bible is important to us because it is a gift from God—a way for Him to reveal Himself to us. When you change the very essence of one of the stories in there, which in turn causes our God to look horrible and goes in the opposite direction of who He really is, then of course people are going to get upset. But I’m willing to disagree with Aronofsky while not demonizing him, because quite frankly, he doesn’t know any better. He doesn’t know my King yet. Hopefully one day he will.

“Come on, Wilson, you gotta try one thing at least!”

Will Hart was admonishing me, and as usual, I was laughing. I don’t think I laugh more with anyone in the world than I do with Will Hart, an evangelist who has accompanied me on various film shoots around the world, and who has become a trusted friend. He is, without question, one of the funniest people I know. He also has a heart that absolutely burns for God and for saving the lost. But today, he was having some fun at my expense.

We were at an enormous outdoor market in Bangkok, Thailand, taking a day off from shooting to see some sights. At this moment we were standing in front of a vendor who was offering such delectable delights as fried baby sparrows (with legs and head included), wasps, water beetles, and crickets. The other guys had all tried something, which, of course, meant that my manhood was now on the line. I gingerly chose the wasp, since it was the smallest, and crunched down. It tasted like…a wasp. Will bellowed with laughter at my face, and popped another baby sparrow into his mouth. He said it was pretty good, but crushing the skull and dealing with the rubbery feet were kind of nasty.

I had just spent a week with my crew and Will in Bangkok and Pattaya, as we filmed with various ministries who are light in darkness in the truest sense of the word. We spent time with ministries like Nightlight Design, which works tirelessly to get women out of the sex trade and into a job making jewelry. The goal is to give these women a job outside of prostitution, and to give them their dignity back.

Whenever I go somewhere to film, there is almost always at least one ministry I visit who is already working in the area. Only occasionally do I go into a place blind, and that is becoming increasingly rare. But even though we may be working with an established ministry in the area, we will almost always hit the streets themselves with whoever I have brought with me. So I go to an area knowing a little about what I am going to capture, but I always want to allow for God to do whatever He wants with us–to allow for those “God moments” that my films are known for.
Will Hart was the guy I brought along to help with the God moments. He had lived in Mozambique with Heidi and Rolland Baker, and has seen thousands of miracles in his 28 years. He’s done a lot of street ministry and evangelism, and he has a giant heart for Thailand, so I figured he would be perfect for this trip. Plus, I knew we were going into a heavy atmosphere, and the more laughs we could have along with us, the easier it would be for everyone.

We filmed a lot with Will that week; in bars, clubs, and brothels, he wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone, and intimidation didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary. He has one of the most uncanny abilities I have ever seen to instantly make a stranger feel comfortable and unthreatened when he approaches them. I watched in amazement as he approached people, prostitutes, and predators with tenderness and confidence that God wanted to show every one of them how much He loved them. Will is also very prophetic, and he never shied away from speaking prophetic words over people, and many were amazed and left in tears when they heard the words God had for them. It was beautiful to watch all week.

But there was another occurrence that happened with alarming regularity that caused all of us no small sense of embarrassment and awkward moments. For some reason, this week Will had a thing for birthdays.

I kid you not, with nearly everybody Will encountered, the first thing he tried to do was guess their birthday. Now this wasn’t a normal thing for him to do, in fact he’d never done it before in his life, but for some reason this week whenever he met someone he would get a very strong impression of a particular date, and he was almost certain it was a birthdate. So he would approach someone, start a little small talk, then ask them if, by chance, their birthday was October 3. Every person, without fail, gave him a blank stare then stated that no, in fact, their birthday was on April 30. No matter what date he gave, their real birthdate was about as far from it as possible.

The first few times it happened it was kind of funny. Will would look sheepish but then would barrel forward. I’d usually laugh nervously, inwardly hoping he’d stop doing this stupid birthday thing. But with each new person we met there came another stab at the birthday. By the end of the week, Will was…I was shocked to see it…frustrated. God was doing great things, but Will couldn’t figure out what was going on with these birthdays. He was CERTAIN that what he was hearing was from the Lord; he knows that voice, he would tell me over and over again. And he had never been this wrong this often in his entire life. What was going on?

We both got the answer on the same day towards the end of our stay in Thailand. That morning, I had a strong sense of what God might be doing, and later in the afternoon Will approached me with the exact same thought. God was teaching us, and me in particular, a lesson.

Without question the most frequently voiced comment I hear from people when they see my films is some iteration of “Boy, I sure wish stuff like that would happen to me.” When I ask them if they ever pray for people around them, the same look of shock and horror that I know so well flickers across their face. “Oh, I could never do that. It would be terrifying!” In my experience, though, the people who do these kinds of things on a regular basis–who see someone in need no matter where they are, and approach them to pray for them–are always nervous about what they’re about to do. It’s never easy to pray for someone, especially if you don’t know them. But often, even when we do know them, even if it is a member of our own family, we become so paralyzed by fear that we are grounded by inaction.

Jesus was quite clear that we would “do greater things” than he did. This seems like a pretty clear directive to walk confidently into the dark unknown and face our own unbelief head on. Having talked with countless Christians over the years, I am now convinced that the overwhelming reason more Christians are not stepping out in their faith, are not praying for full blown healing and intervention in someone’s life, and generally do not act on Jesus’ admonition to do greater things than he did is because we are terrified, utterly horrified by the prospect of being wrong, looking foolish, and in no small way, making God look weak. We either fear man, or we fear a silent God. Either way, it is fear that is keeping us from a life of faith.

Throughout the history of the church, the message has been the central, defining feature of evangelism.  Our services have been entirely built around this foundation—everything from announcements to worship to ministry serve as a kind of buffeter to the man (or woman) standing on a platform and telling us things that are supposedly important.

While this has been quite effective for a long time, something new is being birthed in this generation—and that is the concept of media playing a central role in the spreading of the gospel message.  Almost from the very beginning of cinema the story of Christ has played out on movie screens and (eventually) televisions around the world, and for the longest time the same concept as the church service has reigned supreme.  The message is the thing.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a terrible movie as long as the message is there.

Unfortunately, this is no longer good enough.

Being someone who makes movies for a living, I probably hear more than most the great lament of countless Christians in America: why are so many Christian movies so terrible?  To get to the bottom of this, we must first drill down to realize what exactly they mean by “terrible.”  Sometimes it is bad acting, other times bad cinematography.  But more than anything, if we’re honest with ourselves, is that these movies usually lack the single most important element of all great films.  They are simply not very entertaining.

The problem here isn’t that the stories we are coming up with aren’t inherently entertaining.  The problem, I think, stems from the very thing that Christianity and evangelism is founded on—namely, that the message is the most important thing.  As much as I dread the backlash that this could bring, I have to say it.  For any Christian in the entertainment industry, the message is NOT the most important thing.

Without question, the most important element for all stories is that they must be, first and foremost, entertaining.  If they are not entertaining, well told stories, then no one is going to stick around long enough to actually hear your message.  Not too many people get up and walk out of a lame sermon, but EVERYONE turns the channel if they re bored with what they are watching.  Unfortunately, though, most Christian artists have grown up with the mentality that “the message is the thing”, and this is a difficult boundary to break.  So we become hamstrung into trying to make our stories fit into some unnatural box, and the story always suffers when you treat it with a heavy hand.

I once heard a respected Christian filmmaker admit that for his films, he comes up with what he wants the ending to be based on what he wants his message to be, and then he creates a story designed to get to that ending.  The only problem with this kind of mentality is that any story designed first and foremost to preach to people is always going to feel phony.  The 21st Century audience has grown up on media and has gained a sophistication for consuming media unparalleled in history.  Put it this way, my KIDS can identify cheesy dialogue when they hear it.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not saying that the message is not important for the Christian artist.  It is absolutely essential, for without any kind of message our art is ultimately stillborn—it carries no life.  It’s just pretty pictures that mean nothing.  What I am saying is that it cannot be the MOST important thing.  If your film, for instance, has a great message but very little entertainment value then the only people who will pay attention to your film will most likely be people who already agree with your message.  Those who don’t will have clicked to something else long before it ends.  So you haven’t created a compelling story, you’ve simply created Christian propaganda.

I have created some of the most hardcore “message” films out there with my documentaries, but my team can attest to the fact that when it comes time to put these movies together, my primary goal is to entertain you.  I’m a documentary filmmaker who doesn’t really like documentaries.  So I figure if I’m going to have to make these things because God is asking me to, then it better be entertaining!  I have left some of the most amazing message material on the cutting room floor because it simply didn’t serve the story or move things along.

Ultimately, I think this all boils down to trust.  Most Christian artists simply don’t trust themselves.  They don’t trust that what they believe will come through in their story if they just let go and try to tell a rip-roaring yarn.  But they forget that what they believe makes up the very essence of themselves.  Therefore it will have no choice but to come out in what they create.  It may be hidden, but it will be there.

How does an atheist sit through a Christian documentary, and then decide they no longer want to be an atheist (as has happened many times with my films)?  I think it’s because the documentary is entertaining.  Now I still have a long way to go as a storyteller, and my hope is that my next film will always be more entertaining than the last.  But the last thing I need to worry about is my message, because my art comes from my very soul.  And my soul is found in Christ alone, so I know that if I can just create something that keeps you riveted, the message of Christ will be seeping through the screen and into your spirit.

Dear John MacArthur,

As the guy who created the supernatural-centric films Finger of God, Furious Love, and Father of Lights, I realize that I may very well be near the top of your list of “least saved” people, as my movies have reached millions of people around the world with the message that God is active and alive today and is doing all sorts of amazing, outrageous and (gulp) strange miracles, and that it is the primary mission of the worldwide church to love radically while utilizing the gifts of the Holy Spirit both freely and abundantly. I’m also making a new movie called Holy Ghost which I’m pretty sure you won’t like at all. So I think it’s safe to say that you and I could probably not be further apart regarding the gifts of the Spirit and our dedication to advancing what we think is right throughout the world. We’re both trying to change the temperature of the worldwide church, but the problem is, we’re pushing the dial in opposite directions. That being said, I wanted to write you to let you know that I agree with you…sort of.

I have to admit, when I first read about and then followed along with your conference, it both frustrated and angered me. Not so much because you were calling people like me a liar or a charlatan or even Satan’s puppet. No, I was frustrated because I know, wholeheartedly, that you are wrong on this issue. You are leading the charge in a cause that, I assure you, is doomed to fail. You are essentially fighting against God on this one, and it saddens me that you want to take the hands of others and lead them down this road. You have decided to turn your back on a large portion of your family because you don’t think they are your family.

You have led a crusade against a vast tribe of Christianity that I used to think were completely insane. I used to be very much like you regarding these things. The charismatic movement made me uncomfortable because they seemed so free, so bold, and so weird. I, like you, wasn’t sure this was entirely from God, but that observation came from someone sitting on the sidelines watching these strange family members acting like weirdos. I hid behind the idea that their behavior defined their theology, therefore they could never really be taken seriously. I heard the outrageous claims some of them made and rolled my eyes. I saw many of them focus on the gifts more than the giver of the gifts.

But then God called me (through a supernatural event, no less) to make movies about Him, and to write books about Him, and my whole world got turned upside down. I began to realize that the God of the Bible was far bigger, more gracious, patient, and powerful than I ever thought. I was thrown into the very Charismatic world which you now demonize. I was no longer on the sidelines, but smack dab in the thick of it. And along the way, I saw a lot of good and a lot of bad.

Over the last 7 years I’ve traveled the world searching for the “more” of God. I have seen some of the best that charismatic Christianity has to offer, as well as some of the worst. Much has already been written about your over-generalizations and straw man arguments against the Charismatic movement, but I wanted to say something to this regard that might shock you.

You’re right. There are many people, many Charismatics and Pentecostals who are about as whacky and goofy as you have described them. People who “toke the Holy Ghost”? Friends of mine. People who “shake and laugh uncontrollably”? Family members. People who “speak in tongues”? Nearly everyone I know. I have sat with leaders of enormous Charismatic ministries as they’ve sniped at their spouses. I have seen meetings turn into train wrecks because a speaker or a portion of the audience went overboard in their fleshly exuberance. I have watched leaders stretch the truth from the stage to the point where I was certain it would snap. I’ve seen it all, Mr. MacArthur, the whole messy, ugly, unbiblical underbelly of the Charismatic movement.

And guess what? I’m still here.

Because that isn’t all I have seen. I have seen those same ministers caring for orphans and widows. I have seen them kiss the hands of lepers. I have sat with them in the backs of vans and trains and planes as they’ve poured out their heart to me, explained why they do what they do–how Jesus touched them in such a radical way that they can never go back; they can never be the same again. I have looked into their eyes and have seen the love of Christ pouring out. I have heard them talk about their passion for Christ, heard them preach about the importance of His death and resurrection; the importance of the Bible and the Word, and seen them model every fruit of the Spirit.

I have three young children and each one is unique, but they all have one thing in common. One minute they can be beautiful and loving and tender to one another, and the next they can be perfect little monsters. As their father, I see the best and the worst they have to offer, yet still I love them. And everyday I go to work trying to move their love needle a little closer to heaven. Their journey towards perfect love, as with all of us, will take a lifetime, and sometimes even that isn’t long enough. But I will never disown them because of their stupidity or their ignorance.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that while you have discounted an entire move of God because you have seen some of the worst it has to offer, there is so much more that you haven’t seen that completely overshadows and outshines even the craziest Charismaniac out there. We are members of one family, Mr. MacArthur, and I don’t know about yours, but my family is messy and complicated and beautiful and strange all at the same time.

I’m not angry at you for your conference or your book. In fact, if you’ll let me, I’d love to sit next to you at the banqueting table in heaven and we can make a toast to the King together. I know you don’t think I’ll actually GET to heaven, but that’s fine. I’ll see you there anyway. Because after all, families have to stick together no matter what.

“The Boring Parts of the Old Testament”

At the age of 13, God spoke to me for the very first time. I was at a youth camp in Michigan, and the preacher that night had invited anyone who wanted to hear a word from God to come forward. All my friends went up, so of course, I went up too. I don’t think I’ve ever been the first guy up front at an altar call. It’s one of the great evangelical secrets. No matter how much the sermon speaks to you and how strongly you think you should probably go up there, you’re going to sit back and wait for some other schmuck with the same issues as you to go first. Ah, the psychology of church going. I should write a book about THAT.

Regardless of what got me up there, here I was surrounded by a sea of teenagers, all with their heads bowed in solemn assembly, and I had no idea what to do. I think the leader said something like, “Just talk to Him,” but that didn’t help much. Talk to who? The air? I felt kind of silly, like I was five years old again talking to my imaginary friend. But everyone else seemed to be taking this seriously, so I figured I should too. So I thought, “Well God, do you want to tell me anything?” Immediately, one word pounded into my head and didn’t stop. I still remember it to this day, like a jackhammer. “Writer. Writer. Writer. Writer.” It just filled my thoughts completely. I guess God really knew who He was dealing with, as He was making VERY certain I didn’t misunderstand Him. At that moment, I knew that I was supposed to be a writer.

After that, I got about as seriously into writing as a 13 year old kid can get. I read every book on writing I could get my hands on, wrote tons of terrible short stories, and dreamed of one day being rich and famous. Thankfully, I grew up in an artists home, and my grandfather was a struggling writer as well, so I had some grounding in the reality of making it as a professional. My dad made no bones about the fact that it was a million-to-one shot that I’d ever make it as a writer. Far from deterring me, though, it just fueled me on to show him, and myself, that I could do it. I knew it was my destiny, but I also knew, even at that age, that I had a long road ahead of me. So I continued reading, continued writing, and it soon grew into an obsession. It was all I thought about, all I wanted to do. I wanted to understand the ins and outs of storytelling, to be a master at it.

By the time I got to college, I was a full blown writing addict. My college friends can attest to the fact that I was about as big of a writing nerd as you can get. Too often than I care to remember, I turned down some Friday night invitation to something fun because I had to get through 20 pages that night. In 18 months I wrote 5 terrible books. But still, they were books, and I was proud of them.

Then I moved on to grad school to learn the craft of screenwriting, and became even more steeped in the art of storytelling, drama, conflict, dialogue, character, dilemma, and pacing. Slowly, after nearly two decades of this, I got to the point where I felt I had a fairly decent grasp of the art of storytelling.

In case you missed it, the title of this chapter is “The Boring Parts of the OT”, and at this point you may be wondering what in the world any of this has to do with the Bible. Well, it partly explains why I feel I have to address any of the boring parts of the Bible at all. I am a professional storyteller, and I believe God is the greatest Storyteller of them all. Why, then, is there so much stuff in His book that is almost unreadable?

First, I should probably define what exactly I’m talking about when I say “the boring parts”. It’s pretty simple. You know those parts of the Bible you never read? That stuff.

Specifically, genealogies. So-and-so begat some-other-so, and they begat this-guy who begat that-guy, and so on and so forth until you feel your eyes are going to bleed. I NEVER read this stuff, unless I heard there was some interesting bit thrown in, like that guy Peleg. If you’re not familiar with Peleg, he shows up in Genesis 10:25. Right in the middle of a bunch of begats, you get this little gem:

“Two sons were born to Eber: One was named Peleg, because in his time the earth was divided; his brother was named Joktan.”

What the heck is that all about? In his day the earth was divided? What does that mean? Go ahead and look it up in your commentaries, you know you want to. It’s too tantalizing, too strange to just ignore. But then after that, we’re right back into begatting, begetting, and begutting, and I’m snoring in my Laz-y-boy.

I have to think that most people don’t think much about the boring parts simply because they don’t ever read them. Why worry about something that you’ll never read anyway and doesn’t seem to mean much? That was the attitude I had for a long time, until I grew deeper in my understanding of storytelling. I never doubted that God wrote the Bible, nor did I ever doubt that He knew what He was doing the whole time, which is what made these boring parts such a problem for me. If God is such a great storyteller, then how did he ever let this stuff get past the rough draft stage?

The first rule of any storyteller is to entertain. The second rule is that every part of the story must serve a purpose. If a story isn’t entertaining (ie, interesting) then no one is going to stick around long enough to finish that story. If people don’t stick around, you don’t have a career. Sure there’s other parts of a story that aren’t always entertaining–parts for setting, mood, etc… but these boring parts don’t do any of that. They don’t further the story at all. It’s just…a family tree. What does the inclusion of this stuff tell us about the Author?

As I write this, I am 37 years old. Young enough to not be old, but old enough to not be young either. As such, and as a father with children who are getting bigger and older right before my eyes, I can’t help but begin to ponder the finiteness of this life. When I was younger, I never thought about death, because I didn’t care. I had other things to worry about, like girls. Life was just something I took for granted, because I had so much of it in front of me. But now I’ve got a lot more road behind me, and I’m beginning to realize that eventually this road is going to run out of pavement, and that’s going to be it.

I was very close to both of my grandparents on my father’s side growing up. But now they are both gone and I hardly ever think of them. I barely knew my great-grandmother, and I never think of her anymore. I never met any of my ancestors beyond her, and as much or as little as they may shape my genetic makeup, I’ll never know, because they’ve been gone for so long they have faded from everyone’s memory in my family. Eventually, my parents will pass away, and I’ll grow old, and I’ll tell my grandchildren about their great-grandparents, and how similar to them they are, and they’ll barely think about my mother or father because they’re young and have other things to worry about, like girls.

And then I’ll be gone, on to the next great adventure. And while my films and books may keep me on some people’s radar, eventually the people who really KNOW me will grow old or move on, and soon there will be no one on this planet who can ever again say they knew me. Yet life will go on, and children will be born, and love will flourish, and families will grow, and the cycle will continue. The whole thing may seem somewhat poetic, but in reality, it’s kind of depressing.

Having made movies that have profoundly impacted many people around the world, I often get asked what it feels like knowing how many lives have been changed from something I created. In all honesty, I hardly ever think about it. It’s not some noble, humble thing either, I can assure you. The reality is I have no idea who those people are who have been so impacted, other than a few emails or short encounters when I speak somewhere. I know there is some large contingent out there who I’ve impacted, but they’re just that, “out there”. I don’t know them, so they don’t really affect me.

Which brings us back to our main topic. Boring stuff of the OT. In essence, these genealogies are God’s record of the lives that led to His Son. They are lives fully lived, and He was there for every second. I look at these lists and immediately grow sleepy. I have a feeling God looks at these lists completely differently, though.

While I’m sure there are many theologians out there who will roll their eyes at my rudimentary lack of understanding in regards to the cultures and purposes the Scriptures were “historically” written for, and who understand that the Bible can’t be read like a spy novel, and who take issue with my central conceit that God actually “wrote” the Bible, I hope those reading this understand where I am coming from and what I am trying to do. These are not the only ways to read the Scriptures, nor should they be. But just as there are infinite depths to God’s love, intelligence, and character, I don’t see it as much of a stretch to think that there might also be many, many things we can learn from the book He wrote.

That being said, I have to believe that God is whispering something to us, even as we skip over these boring parts without the slightest glance. The truth is, and it is shown by His insistence on these genealogies making the final cut, that He cares, a lot, about families. And even more than that, He cares about individuals. He cares about your life. Your legacy. You. And even though we may forget who our great, great grandmothers are, He most certainly does not. And while we may have no idea how our actions today will affect our great, great grandchildren tomorrow, He, most certainly, does. Your life will come to an end, and eventually no one will remember you were even here.
Well, almost no one. And somehow that’s comforting. So I guess there is a point to all that boring stuff after all.