If you feel your life is going to hell in a handcart, try to jam something into the spokes.
If you're not sure how to do this there is a good example of it in Indiana Jones 3; even though it is a much more concrete and literal example, whereas you & I are speaking in more of a figurative sense, I still think you can draw application.
I just read this blog, a tiny, tiny (please read tee-nee, tie-nee) blog that left me a quivering mess of something on the floor for 6 hours (and remember, that's Inception/dream time I'm referring to, so in the really real world it was only about two minutes). So I read it, and after reflection I thought, "This is so good that I simply have to steal it, perhaps give the necessary attribution, and get it to my people as quickly as possible." But then the guilt and shame set in. "Well, this other guy came up with this, can't you be more original? Just what the hell is your problem, anyway? Blogs by their nature are insubstantial and fleeting as it is, you posting a blog where you link to someone else's blog is like handing someone a piece of paper that reads "pretty soon I'm going to hand you another piece of paper" (actually I kind of like that--I'm going to do that to someone by day's end).
But somehow I overcame the self-loathing, the auto-animosity and self-directed passive-aggressive gestures and I am now able to post a link to this great blog.
Now that you've read it I just have one question for you: Can a non-Christian talk like this? Look, the easy answer is "yes, it is certainly possible." Don't say that to me, I know that already. As far as I can tell Mr. Cohen is a non-Christian, just kind of blows me away. How can he be more articulate about our faith, then, well, all of us?
Will I eventually need to pay for my sin of routinely over-indulging in superlatives? Most definitely.
But that day is not today, and here is what you paid your money for, this was supplied by the good people over there at Mental Floss:
A story about Harper Lee:
"The author of one of the great American novels and winner of the 1961 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction had worked as a reservation clerk at Eastern Airlines for eight years when she received a note: "You have one year off from your job to write whatever you please. Merry Christmas." By the next year, she'd penned To Kill a Mockingbird."
In other news, I am now putting my literary aspirations on hold so I can focus all my efforts on resurrecting the now defunct Eastern Airlines in hopes of securing a menial job there...