I sometimes ask myself why I believe Torah.  Why do I desire to serve Almighty?

Continually, I get knocked off my feet with discovered errors.

Always, it’s a lonely traipse through time.

The end of the matter – I have absolutely no skin in the game.  There is zero lineage in my family line that ties to the People of the Book.  I am listed on a family pedigree, part of a registered family history, that extends back to the 1500s, of European descent and documented immigration to the colonies in 1629.  I am European American.  Or hillbilly, in tribute to my dead mother.

There is absolutely nothing I gain by my desire to serve Almighty, except that I soothe my own soul.

I’m ostracized in some circles for staunchly defending my integrity.  My blood family steers a wide berth around me since they don’t understand me — that or they attempt to proselytize me.  My spouse thankfully tolerates and accommodates me, but disagrees with my beliefs, so I will not be a citizen in the land YHWH calls Israel, unless by means beyond my control.  Should I find myself there, I would have to beg for scraps, scrape by and feed off the corners, hope to become a servant to survive.  I have no inheritance.

You see, I am nobody.  I have no reward for what I believe.

What I have is a deep belief that what YHWH has set down in Torah is the most perfect system I could ever imagine.  I am a follower of rules, a cynic who tests but a guardian once I am convinced.  I could keep the instructions, I believe, should I be in the position to be in the land.  But what if I’m wrong?  If I don’t keep the Law in the Land, I would be expelled or killed.

Harsh?  Or perfect?

Either way – there’s no reward.  Yet, I will continue.