The calligrapher artfully inscribes words and phrases to enhance or magnify their meaning. To impress us with their substance. While still just words, they're more vivid, more indelible.
Calligraphy is a beautiful art form. I am enriched when I behold and contemplate a calligrapher's artistry.

The calligrapher so crafts the words that my imagination jumps and dreams and runs. But that admiring does not yet alter or transform me. The words are still separate from me. Our imaginations can dream and aspire, our bodies must jump and run.

My calligrapher friend Rick, through his craft, exhorted me to be a man. A true and faith-filled man. A God-fearing, Jesus-witnessing man. To despise merely appearing as, instead of actually being, such a man.

The idea of being a soldier in the kingdom of Jesus Christ however beautifully written or inspiringly spoken or skillfully explained, brings me not one millimeter closer to actually being that soldier. Imagining being a warrior merely enlists me. Without physical engagement, ferocious faith, patient resolve and persistent diligence, it's only a pretty placard that appears to lead to somewhere.

Beautifully written signs declaring our Christian beliefs are posted everywhere. But what I believe must be palpable to those I encounter.

We believe God answers prayer but rarely pray until we get His answers. We believe we are to love our neighbor as ourselves. We believe that God's born-again children inherit eternal life, and that unbelievers shall forever suffer the burning fires of hell, yet to whom do we tell these things? We say that God is all powerful but we have not much trusted Him to heal our bodies. We claim joy as the signature tell of our faith - but who could tell? How come it doesn't bother us very much when what we say we believe about God doesn't match our actions? Maybe we only appear to believe, and do not, really.

More troubling than watching ourselves masquerade before others, is to inwardly partner with our own illusions.

See, I had Rick's beautifully hand-scribed calligraphy in a prominent place now for nearly eight years. He gave his gift. He did his job; crafting plain words to quicken and inspire. For most of those eight years I did not even notice.

What I could do now is paste this on my mirror and say it every time I stand before it. But no, I must look at myself - right into the eyes of the man I see when I look in the mirror. I must ask him some questions:
Hey fella,
Are you what you declare yourself to be?
Are you even what you want to be?
Are your beliefs and your conduct dissonant or harmonious?

I honor my calligrapher friend in as much as my life defines and displays his words.