READING, WRITING, AND REFUSING TO STAGNATE
I write a lot; I read even more. Most of the time I read fast—devouring pages, tracing arguments, following ideas wherever they lead. But when something truly feeds me, when it rings with truth or wrestles honestly with reality, I slow down. I underline. I highlight. I linger. Some books are meant to be consumed; others are meant to be inhabited.
I am, in a sense, an omnivorous reader—across genres, across traditions, across disagreements. It would be impossible to catalog everything. I read whatever I believe will teach me, stretch me, unsettle me; I despise stagnation. A stagnant mind is a dangerous thing for a Christian, because faith was never meant to calcify—it was meant to live, breathe, and grow (2 Peter 3:18).
I also read the enemies of Christianity. Not out of fascination, but out of strategy. I want to know how they think, how they argue, how they frame their objections. I intend to live on the offensive, not the defensive. A soldier who never studies the opposing defense will always be reacting instead of advancing. If we are to contend earnestly for the faith, we must know where the pressure is coming from and why (Jude 3).
But if you want to know the voices that have shaped me—the ones whose pages feel like old friends—there are a few names that rise above the rest. My writing is, at best, a pale imitation of these men. These are the writers I would read anything by, whenever I could get my hands on it.
Charles Spurgeon taught me that truth need not whisper to be holy. He preached with thunder and tenderness, conviction and warmth, never apologizing for clarity. He showed me that depth and accessibility are not enemies. My style of writing was likely shaped as much by Spurgeon as by anyone.
Andrew Murray taught me to kneel. His words carry the quiet authority of a man who lived much of his theology on his knees. He reminded me that surrender is not weakness but alignment, and that abiding in Christ is not a slogan but a way of life (John 15:4-5).
James D. Bales — this one mattered deeply. I learned a great deal from him, but the most consequential lesson was not one he intended to teach. He was an absolutely brilliant thinker, disciplined, careful, and sincere. And yet, watching him attempt to defend a man-made system—Restorationism as an ironclad pattern, an unbending blueprint—taught me something sobering: if he cannot successfully defend it, then no one can. Not because he lacked intelligence or effort, but because the system itself cannot bear the weight placed upon it. A brilliant mind cannot rescue a flawed foundation. The gospel does not need scaffolding; it needs proclamation (1 Corinthians 1:18).
T. Austin-Sparks was deep, heavy, demanding. He does not skim the surface; he descends. Reading him is not casual—it is costly. But he will take you places few are willing to go, places where Christ is not merely studied but encountered.
Then there is D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones, who showed me the power of logic baptized in fire. C. S. Lewis, who taught me that imagination can be a servant of truth. John R. W. Stott, who modeled clarity without cruelty. William Barclay, whose breadth of knowledge and pastoral instinct opened the Scriptures in fresh and human ways.
I have read everything I could get my hands on from these men, not because they replaced Scripture, but because they helped me see it more clearly.
All of this—reading widely, writing often, engaging critics, honoring mentors—serves one aim: growth. Not growth for its own sake, but growth in Christ.
Systems will fail; personalities will fade; even our best formulations will eventually show their cracks. But Jesus remains. He does not ask us to defend Him with fragile frameworks; He asks us to follow Him with honest hearts (John 14:6).
I will keep reading. I will keep writing. I will keep pressing forward—offensive, not defensive—not because I am confident in my arguments, but because I am confident in Him.
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Lord Jesus, keep my mind sharp and my heart soft. Save me from stagnation, from fear, from clinging to systems more than to You. Teach me to love truth wherever it is found, to test all things, and to hold fast to what is good. Lead me deeper, always deeper, into Yourself. Amen.
BDD
