Which author would you love to have dinner with?
For me, the answer is not found among the shelves of earthly libraries—but within the sacred pages of Scripture, among the sixty-six books that comprise God’s living Word. Not for fame, not for status, not for the vanity of a signed keepsake—but purely for the joy that flows from the Holy Spirit.
Worldly authors inscribe their books for pride, for promotion, or to gratify the collector’s ego—that fleeting thrill of owning a signature that proclaims, “I have touched greatness.” Too often, the autograph matters more than the author’s voice; the trophy outweighs the truth.
And so it is with dinner invitations. To break bread with a celebrated writer is deemed an honour—a notch on the social belt. Yet if the guest does not resonate with the writer’s soul, the table becomes a barren place. As the proverb warns: “Do not cast your pearls before swine”—for conversation, like treasure, is wasted on ears that cannot hear. To speak to a wall is to speak to the wind.
But my longing is different. I yearn to dine with the prophets and apostles—those who wrote not by their own will, but as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit (2 Peter 1:21). This hope shall be fulfilled when we gather at the heavenly feast. For united by the same Spirit who inspired their words, we shall at last be fully known—and fully knowing.
Yet even beyond the human instruments, I confess a deeper hunger: to sit at table with the Author Himself—the Lord of Life, who breathed all Scripture into being (2 Timothy 3:16–17). Not for one meal alone, but for every meal—breakfast, lunch, and supper—like Peter, who, once he grasped the meaning of the Master’s towel and basin, cried out not for feet only, but for hands and head as well (John 13:6–10). Oh, to be washed whole by the Word made flesh!
May I read God’s words with clarity, that I may walk in His light until the day breaks and shadows flee. And may the poem below stir your spirit as it has stirred mine.
—
✨Clear Eyes, Clear Mind✨
Pleasing to the eye, yet falls to the gut—
In feasting and play, the soul stands shot.
The tree of knowledge, fair to see,
Beguiles the heart with mystery.
The tree of life—by sweat and toil,
Its fruit is won from bitter soil.
What pleases the eye—beware its snare;
What quickens the spirit—seek it there.
With heart made clear and vision bright,
You shall see through every written light.
Through every book, through life’s long art,
Through all you read, you read the heart—
Yet not in pages, nor in ink,
But in the One who makes you think.
For when you see the Author’s face,
You’ll know you’ve dined in every place—
And washed not feet alone, but whole,
The Word made flesh, the living soul.
Then reading life, at last you see:
You are not bound—you are set free.
—✨
en yan hua fang 