Click image/hyperlink to purchase Marvelous Light.
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Nearly three years ago I suffered a spontaneous subdural hematoma (a massive brain bleed), which could easily have killed me or should at least have caused some brain damage. That freak medical incident, something that essentially never happens to healthy 25 year olds, should never have happened at all. But it did. And after it did, I should never have gotten back to life as usual as if nothing had happened. But I did. You could even say I’ve surpassed where I was. The past three years have seen a lot of growth for me.
Today, after two years-worth of research, writing, and revising, I have the privilege to publish my first serious, full-length work, Marvelous Light. This book is an in-depth study of the topic of light from the divergent perspectives of science, philosophy, and theology. In it I try to tackle some of the most profound truths in our world by synthesizing facts from each area of study into one cohesive reality.
The question you ought to be asking yourself is how a young man suffers what should be a completely debilitating injury only to recover fully and spend most of his free time for years doing something that requires so much focus, concentration, and determination. How did we get here?
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For the first couple of weeks after my brain bleed I had absolutely no inhibitions. I was suggestive, mean, and nasty. I desperately needed much help from my family and my nurses, and yet I mocked those who loved me and belittled those who worked to heal me. Brain injuries can affect the personalities of those who suffer them, and for a time my personality was completely and unacceptably altered. Luckily for me, I was surrounded by people with enough patience to help me through until my brain recovered and my personality normalized.
Probably the most powerful agent in rejuvenating my personality was my mother. She lived at the hospital in the same room with me. She suffered the abuse I would actively deal out as well as the emotional trauma of the uncertainties surrounding my physical, intellectual, and psychological recovery. She tried her best to keep me from poking my brain (about a third of my skull was removed for three months). She pinned me down when I frantically smacked the eye-snatchers from my face (a passing hallucination of mine). She did her best to stay sane while I did my best to drive her crazy.
But at one point in our stay, about a week after my bleed, she said something that changed everything. For some time I stayed on the stroke recovery floor (there are no floors for medical phenomena that happen in .003% of the population). Most of the patients were older and had trouble standing or even moving a spoon to their mouths. In the meantime, healthy young Paul could juggle while standing on one foot. I didn’t quite fit in, and I knew it. Partially due to my delirious conceit and partially due to my baseline pride, I actually mocked and detested those poor patients who were trying to recover use of their bodies. I knew the whole time that my therapy was a waste of time (it wasn’t, I was just oblivious to how much I needed it). I just wanted to get out of the hospital and eat some decent food.
Anyway, within this context, one day my mother got my attention and said something that hasn’t quite lingered in my memory, but clearly had a big impact on me at the time. She said, “This can’t just be about us.” She was drawing my attention to how self-centered I was being and how I had been blessed with a fantastic opportunity, an opportunity to live the calling that she and I share as Christians, an opportunity and a prerogative to love and live intentionally.
Although I don’t remember her first saying those words, I took the truth to heart that day. According to her, from that point on I tried harder to engage with the other patients. I was maybe a little nicer to my nurses. And I suppose I was more conscious about not wasting the time that I had been blessed with recovering in the hospital. I took that attitude home with me.
I lived for about four months with my parents. This was not as much fun as it sounds. I had a lot of time on my hands, and I couldn’t stand or walk without wearing an awful, round, white helmet. I took a lot of naps to ease the headaches (brains prefer to have 100% of their skulls). And I sat in a recliner for the rest of the time. Although I would watch Netflix with my parents in the evening, I had the whole day to do whatever I wanted. So long as what I wanted was in the recliner.
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When I graduated college years earlier, I had learned to be mindful about how I use my free time after work and on the weekends. Working in a job which offered little personal satisfaction, I quickly realized that coming home to watch TV or a couple of movies was only adding to the frustration of my feeling of unproductivity. For a couple of years before my bleed, I read more than ever before. When I read, I feel like I’m accomplishing something, even if all I’m doing is consuming (as opposed to producing). At least my brain has to be active. TV does not demand anything, especially not active brain-power.
With this attitude, when I returned home with my parents from the hospital, I did not want to spend my days watching TV and movies or playing video games. I wanted to make the most of the six months that I would be out of work. This is when I really started to read.
And I read and read and read and read and napped a lot too. As I read, I redeveloped my attention, focus, and memory, abilities the bleed had destroyed. I also began to take in new information from many different of sources. I read the Chronicles of Narnia and other novels. I read Emily Dickenson and other poetry. I read psychology and philosophy and basically anything else that struck my attention. I wanted to read as much as I could. I wanted to make my leave of absence worthwhile.
One of the books I read during this time was Confessions by Saint Augustine. It was while reading Confessions that I first thought of the idea that light as described by the ancients was actually very comparable to light as described by modern physics. Though it would take plenty of research to confirm my hypothesis, that is where it all started.
And that’s how my desire to use my time wisely changed from a focus on reading to a focus on writing. Something inside me prompted me to think about how I could produce rather than just consume. I wanted to write the types of books that I found so interesting instead of only reading them. So, I founded my own publishing company that fall and dove head first into research for Marvelous Light. Nearly every day after work I spent reading and taking notes and eventually writing and revising the book. I gave up many Saturdays to do the same. I was committed to making my book a reality.
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Now, after 2 years of work, the book is finally published. What started simply as a desire to not waste time (planted by the seed of my mother forcing me to see beyond myself) has morphed into a way of life. I want to revisit for a moment that seed planted by my mother.
This can’t just be about us.
She was right. My time in the hospital, as non-sensical as it might sound to non-believers, was a blessing. God graciously saw me through an injury that should have killed me. On the other side of that trauma, I can see that every minute I have is a gift from God. In the hospital, it was important for me to share God’s blessings with those around me by engaging with my fellow patients with patience, understanding, and love. While with my parents, it was important for me to be as productive as my recliner-confined life would allow. And after my recovery, my mother’s words are still as true as they were when first uttered.
This can’t just be about us.
I wrote this book to pursue a dream of writing. I wrote this book to fulfill a creative impulse. I wrote this book for the pride the finished product would make me feel. I wrote this book with the crazy idea that I might make a little money. I wrote this book because I wasn’t doing anything with my time anyway.
But most importantly, I wrote this book because God asked me to. He gifted me with a profound idea, that the world is unimaginably cohesive in all of its parts, that one comprehensive character defines the entire universe, that God is now and always lord of all. God entrusted me with that kernel of truth and he has seen me through the process of developing that idea into an entire book. I wrote this book for a lot of reasons, but at the center of it all, I wrote this book for God.
I wrote this book because it’s never just been about me. My life has to be about so much more than just me. My mother partnered with me in the hospital by saying “us.” At first, it was mostly her, and then only a little bit me, and eventually the “us” made some sense. She used “us” because she was relating to me as her son and I to her as my mother. We were a team in the hospital, working to share God’s light to all those around us. My relationship with her and how I related to everyone else in the hospital broadened the impact of my days beyond the selfishness of “me.” It can’t be “me,” and it can’t be us-restrictive. It has to be us-inclusive.
As I now publish this book, “us” has an expanded definition. In the New Testament we are told that the sacrifice of Jesus Christ has lasting relational impact on all those who accept his grace and mercy. We who accept the love of God are adopted into his family. We become brothers and sisters of Christ, co-heirs of the Kingdom of Heaven, sons and daughters of our Father God. We are grafted into God’s family, accepted as full-blooded royalty. We are princes and princesses, rulers of a new kingdom.
Finally, it is about us, but “us” is no longer localized or selfish. We must always be generous with God’s blessings. Let us all accept and share the inheritance that has been freely given to all those who believe. Let us all bask in the marvelous light of the God of the Universe. It is marvelous indeed.