I have decided to begin posting a series of letters I have come into, detailing the spiritual and philosophical struggles of a young man named Abraham. These letters fascinate me, both because the author is largely unknown, at least to me–these diaries were found in an old journal pulled from a box of books that I was given not long ago–and because of their deep resonance with my personal experiences. The overlap in reading and kindred thinking I find in these letters is incredible; but, considering the books this journal was included with, I find it less surprising.
I will provide notes where they seem appropriate, but largely I wish to let the words and the questions speak for themselves. I have not read all of these entries, and my exploration through them will be an adventure as much for me as I hope it will be for you. This is not a place to formulate answers, but rather a platform for a voice. From the dictation of that authorial Voice comes what I have decided to entitle the Book of Bram:
15 October, 1:43 PM
“I have asked questions all my life,” said Bruce Metzger. “And today I know that my faith in Jesus has been well-placed.” He adds, with an almost child-like peace and sincerity, a satisfaction that stirs my jealousy: “Very well-placed.” 
I don’t know why I choose now to begin writing again. I don’t know why my rhetoric embarrasses me, as though I should think that anyone else might read this. I write from both need and want, both of which are unquenchable. I do not believe for a moment that enlightenment is the death of desire , rather it is the persistent pursuit of that One Desire that, in its pursuit and fulfillment, aligns all desires behind itself . It is the current of perfection, the aligning of the self with the Divine Person of Christ, the momentum of perfection which draws everything into itself and painfully perfects all that would resist its process.
I, now, embody this resistance. I am a river that seeks to change its course, I intend to carve my way into the ocean when all I must do is accept myself to be channeled into that which promises to take me there.
And even in my resistance, I fail miserably. I spend no time [caring], only bemoaning the fact that I continuously fail to do that which has been done for me…
I am a mess of doubt, of unsatisfied intellect. I am angry that God does not defend himself to the world as I think he ought, but how much that is my insistence that I will not believe until he does so, to my liking? Until he “proves it” to [the Continental child] who will accept no proofs?
Was Pascal really wrong, or naive?  Doesn’t it ring true that I will so no God where I am unwilling to see him? Musn’t a friend prove himself as a reliable presence? I cannot dismiss him, having nothing to do with him until he proves to be perfect and loyal–how would I ever know?
Shouldn’t I also grant God the same opportunity, the same benefit, to himself speak to these questions and challenges, so heavily levied against him? Does it make sense to drown him out and then accuse him of silence? Should I not expect an answer, before I tell him that he has failed me?
And, in my expectation of that answer, should I not live to be like him, as though I were already? To be so unoccupied with myself, that I might not sin against him…
Κύριε Ἰησοῦ Χριστέ, Υἱὲ τοῦ Θεοῦ, ἐλέησόν με τὸν ἁμαρτωλόν. 
 Metzger is quoted as such in Lee Strobel’s The Case for Christ (1998). Whether or not this is Bram’s source, I can’t say.
 There is a similar sentiment expressed by the character Mitchell in his reading of the Desert Fathers in Jeffrey Eugenides’ The Marriage Plot (2011).
 Similar to the sentiment expressed by Kierkegaard: “Purity of heart is to will one thing.”
 Abraham almost certainly refers here to the infamous Pascal’s Wager.
 Kyrie Iesu Christe, Gie tou Theo, eleison me tou amartolon: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Bram ends many of his entries and letters in this way, from the ones I’ve glanced at, and it appears to become his mantra–not to mention that he apparently has some understanding of Greek, or has at least copied the phrase. Referring back to the Eugenides connection about, the “Jesus Prayer” also becomes Mitchell’s mantra during his religious pilgrimage. It will be interesting to see if this connection becomes further fleshed out in Bram’s writing. Of course, that all depends on these letters be written fairly recently, and I’ve nothing to say to that point yet.