Here is what I tell Atheists:

Good is a force which is inherent
And immutable and not conditioned to a man's personal beliefs.
Evil, as well, is inherent, and not conditioned to a man's personal beliefs.
Life is vain, and isn't where the focus should be.
I am a life, breathed into by God, 
And when that life is gone, I go.
I have choice, but God already knows the intimate details of my choices,
And has awarded me grace based on that omniscience.
I believe in God because of science.
I believe the Old Testament was God telling man to save himself,
And now that man failed, God has promised to save us;
This means we ignore the Old Testament's laws completely.
I believe love is an inherent spiritual force, along with joy and peace,
Which flows from divine Paraclete, and is the best evidence for God's existence.
I think life's meaning is to fully devote oneself to understanding Love, 
So, therefore, learn to love God and their Neighbor.

I cannot accept the atheist point of view.

What every atheist I'd ever talked to said:

"I understand good,
"Though I don't actually believe good exists.
"To me, good is just what benefits people.
"And evil is just what harms people.
"Life is meaningless,
"All I am, is a chemical reaction of firing neurons,
"Which produce all my decisions and beliefs
"And also the environmental conditioning which made me.
"I do not believe in God,
"Because science disproves God's existence.
"I believe the Bible is immoral because it condones Genocide and Slavery.
"I believe love is different for every person,
"And is just a euphoria created by our endocrine system.
"Life's meaning is whatever we make it."

Does this sum up your position, Atheists?

Judit beat Magnus. Way to Go!

What I hate most,
As I was praying to God the other night,
And I will share it with my readers,
Is how jadedness sucks joy from a soul.

Joy to me is a deep emotion,
As those who truly have it are rare,
And therefore precious.
But, it is the world's depth
That I understand so well,
And wish it hadn't of taught it to me.

When ingratiated with a thing---
As a matter of taste, the first hit
Of the melody, whatever that song is,
Will be your preferred sound;
Or the flavor combination,
Or the first face which awakens love,
Or the specific painter in a style.

Ingratiating oneself with art,
The critic doesn't realize the audience
Hasn't the same cultured taste.
Thus, taking what is generally good,
And can be new for one person,
He rips it apart.

I found myself about to partake in that snobbery today,
Listening to a techno song with all my favorite sounds---
Note they were my favorite sounds---
And my first reaction, within my gut, 
Was to laugh at it, or criticize it,
Not realizing had I listened to that song
As a young man, I would have been satisfied for hours.

A critic is alienated from the wonder of his inner child.
Let the wise never become one.

He says, "It would have been more 
"Important that God provide
"A detailed equation for the universe."

God has gifted me with an imagination. And one of the reasons a man does work, is to eat. My work is to compile wisdom, and put it together to help people gain faith. It is freely available, but we all need to make money. And as Paul said, "Do not muzzle the ox while it is threshing."

The fact is, I need to eat. I need shelter. I need water. I need sustenance, too. I cannot live on hopes and prayers alone. And this work I've spent sixteen years making, in order to produce a comprehensive body of work providing evidence that Jesus is the LORD. The most concrete proof is all freely available here.

If I do make A LOT of money, most of it will go to charity. But, as any sensible person understands, you need resources to live, and God has not called me to apostleship, therefore, homelessness. He's called me to be a prophet of the Most High, and warn people of the impending disaster, and hopefully turn away God's wrath like Isaiah and Jonah.

I will make a living off of this, or the world will squash me like a bug, and therefore, never know the truth as I have. And in that, there will be sorrows in abundance, save for the world which will rejoice while good people have sorrows.

This is my work---just like you go to the office, or the construction yard every day. And, a person's work needs to be compensated. I do plan on being charitable, but only a fool would put themselves in the poor house by devoting all of their hard work. As, that will only lead to poverty, and as my mother says, if I can't help myself, I won't be able to help anybody else.

I start this journey,
A two year old boy.
I learn my dad's stereo system
Having watched him do it before.
Some day love will find me,
As the opening synths sends me on
My new life's road.

Then, driving through the woods
And over the river,
To grandmother's house I go.
About to slip down, 
I'm so excited to swim.
Life is about fun, and I'm too tired for work;
Play is everything at this time in my life.
We listen to the oldies radio, the whole car ride,
Sitting in another traffic jam.

Seventeen, sweet emotion fills me,
Pleasure filled fantasies of sex
To Two Unlimited and Rock and Roll...
The beginning of my career as a writer,
With pornographic prose and an honest to truth love story.
I find my woman with a face like a gent.
Her daddy says I took it a little too far.

My car, I ramble about for years,
First with my androgynous mate,
And then with my friends;
Going here, there, the summer of fun
And violence. I try to make my living,
But, I'm a rambling man.
Rambling on and on, talking mostly nonsense.

My car is my pride and joy...
You don't know what I got;
I rev my Malibu beside the car
Of infernos---there my sister almost died.
My stereo bumps, overshadowed by woofers
In the hopped up Coupe.
Barrel Rolls, broken hips and brain tissue.

Recovering, Johnny comes to me
And makes a deal---
He's in a bind, and I take the dare.
Thus, he sings of the Devil's Kitchen
And I sing of the Snowy Abode.
He sings of a Welsh Prince,
And I sing of our LORD and King;
My mountain is taller.

I then meditate on the sweetest wisdom...
To be a man, simple and humble.
To search for love, and not be lonely in this world.
It was always my song, my very first song,
But straying from it all these years,
I realize the fantasy was not enough.

Then the trial of every Christian comes;
The fornication with the worldly device.
My captivity, my mission,
They scream what I spoke to her in the closet
On the rooftops. They know my every secret thought,
They turn my life into a spectacle.
It happens. Everybody's been there;---
Information's inebriation.

Then the music dies.
Censorship grows...
My movie begins...
This will be the day that I die---
I wrote the book of love,
I have faith in God above
And what the Bible tells me,---so,
I believe my music can save the soul.

Now I go, walking down the street.
I get funny looks from everyone I meet.
For my youthful offense
I am stained with distrust, and dirty looks.
Everywhere I go, a look of shame appears
On the faces of all around me...
All know my sin,
All know my shame...

I look for work in the city,
But can find none.
I ride the Pride of the Susquehanna.
People on the river are happy to give me their time,
To listen. I wander here, there, looking for an answer
To my disgrace and poverty.
I have no money,
Wandering the streets, shamefully.

In my music, I drift away...
Writing my odes of blaspheming kings,
Doppelgangers, witches,
Dragons and satyrs,
True Love and advanced civilizations.
I get lost in my creativity...
I get lost in the rhythms of my
Playlist, waiting for when I fall in love.

Then I see her face.
I started thinking love was simply a story I wrote...
A beautiful thing I kept on my keys.
A fairytale like my kings and queens.
But, I saw her face once more,
And there was no trace of doubt.
My first I gave all, and got nothing.
Now, the face of sunshine makes me believe in love again.

I, the loser of losers,
Fell in love with the Homecoming Queen;
And she loved me.
I believed in my dreams.

She said to me,
"Do you, you, feel like I do?"
And for life's longest season,
We made time for loves.

Life returned to the simplicity of childhood.
The pure, exalted joy of youth prevailed;
Life was good again...
It was like sitting at the Kokomo,
Listening to a steel drum band.
She and I reclined, filled and old as the songs
I listened to as a child.

At the end of life,
I blessed Jesus, and said,
"This life was just alright with me."
And I drifted off to sleep one day,
And woke up someplace else;
Someplace better.