The day I was born, in the year I was born, was the anniversary of the destruction of the second temple in Jewish history. While that may not sound like a great day to come into the world, it's the day believed by many that will usher in the Messiah's birth, or, depending on your theological perspective, a Messianic return. But that doesn't make me Jesus. At least, I don't think so.
You make my words matter. And have for the last two years. Without all 71, 731 of you, I wouldn't exist. Not really. It's kind of like the tree-fall in an empty forest: Without someone there to witness it, whether the tree falls or not is of no consequence. That's what writers do--we provide the consequence in a blind forest. We're the observers--the ones who are looking for falling trees when apathy creeps into the social periphery. So to have you look for my particular tree is not only an honor and a joy, it's the thing all writers aspire to achieve: Infectious awareness.
I'm humbled. And wish to thank you, the loyal 71, 731 readers, for your patient kindness. You are ALL appreciated beyond eloquent articulation.
And, in case I do turn out to be Jesus, tickets to Heaven are on me....