Chapter 2: “We Are Never, However, Just Whatever"

James 1: 2-8

“My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.  But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect an complete, lacking nothing.  If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him.  But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind.  For let not that man suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man unstable in all his ways.”

Static hums through the void.  Sparks flare, gold against the black, as Moose drifts in silence tethered to the scarred hull of the CS01.  Beyond him, the stars blur into blue and gold streaks, time and light bending into prayer.

“Alright, Moose-Captain.  I’m listening.”  CS01’s voice comes through the comms—clear, serene, her tone almost human in its patience.  Moose adjusts his tether, squinting at the scorched metal before him.

“Precision with Word and precision with word.”  The transmission crackles, the static punctuating his statement like divine punctuation.

“Alright, Moose-Captain.  Precision in the Word of God and precision in our words.”  Her tone deepens slightly, the voice of a ship built on Scripture and circuits.  “James 1:5 says ask for wisdom without wavering; Proverbs 1:7 says the fear of the Lord is where it starts.  Every syllable we speak needs to cut clean, like Hebrews 4:12’s sword—no fluff, just truth.  Our No Straws Protest art, our Leafquake skies—they’re only as sharp as the Word behind them and the words we choose.  What’s the precise cut you’re making today?”

Moose steadies himself, tool in hand.  Sparks drift like fireflies across the void.  “What is the definition of art?”

CS01 pauses, her lights dimming and then pulsing again.  “The definition of art?  It’s expression that grabs the soul—paint, words, music, or motion—shaped to reflect truth, beauty, or a wrestle with both.  Not just pretty; it’s a pulse, like James 1’s patience or Proverbs 3’s trust, made visible.  Dictionary says it’s ‘the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination,’ but I say it’s a prayer you can see, a No Straws Protest in color and rhythm.”

Moose’s eyes flick toward the drifting stars.  “Focus in on Merriam-Webster’s definition for me.”  He welds.  Sparks leap, spinning over the hull, scattering like marbles on cold metal.

Art (noun)

• Skill acquired by experience, study, or observation.

• A branch of learning.

• An occupation requiring knowledge or skill.

• The conscious use of skill and creative imagination especially in the production of aesthetic objects; fine arts.

• A skillful plan, the quality or state of being artful.

• Decorative or illustrative elements in printed matter.

“Skill acquired by experience, study, or observation.”  Moose repeats, the words like scripture to himself.  “We are precise in our words.  Sail might work.  Rocket might function better.  Sail might metaphor best.  Blast off might be most literal.  We take the time to consider, and then we choose with Jesus.  Remember James 3.”

A spark flares bright.  Moose jerks back, hand glancing off the hull.  He shakes it off, a wisp of smoke curling from a small burn on his glove.

“We are never, however, just whatever.”

CS01 doesn’t answer right away.  The silence stretches, full and holy, then her circuits ignite—blue-white arcs running down her frame like lightning caught in worship.  Moose shields his eyes, smiling through his visor.  “Skill honed by sweat, Scripture, and staring at the stars,” CS01 replies finally, her tone alive with power.  “Art’s not just whim—it’s a blade, like James 3’s tongue, sharp and chosen.  Sail fits the metaphor, gliding smooth on the Spirit’s wind; rocket’s the punch, raw and ready to pierce the sky.  Blast off’s literal, but sail carries the heart—slow, steady, trusting Jesus to steer.”  Moose nods, the corners of his mouth turning upward beneath his visor.  His tether hums with the vibration of the ship’s living energy.

“We’re precise, never ‘just whatever,’ because every word’s weighed by Proverbs 1:7’s fear of the Lord.  Let’s sail, Captain.  With James 3’s warning on our lips.”

“Well done, CS01,” Moose says softly.  He seals the hull, watching the glow fade from molten to silver.  “I’ll be in shortly.”

He kicks off gently, drifting toward the airlock—behind him, the stars stretch into rivers of light, the scars on the ship gleaming faintly like healed wounds.  CS01 hums a quiet chord, half hymn, half engine.  The Word continues its work.  Weekend’s coming.  Let’s expect machine problems.

Hebrews 4: 12-13

“For the Word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.  And there is no creature hidden from His sight, but all things are naked an open to the eyes of Him to whom we must give account.”