A Word on Doug Wilson

I’m twelve years old and I devour any words I can find.

I read cereal boxes and the Sunday funnies and the Elsie Dinsmore series and G. A. Henty and Vision Forum catalogs and Canon Press catalogs and the American Girl series and the Dear America series and C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien.

I read the magazines my Reformed father subscribes to: Tabletalk (R. C. Sproul) and Patriarch (Phil Lancaster) and Credenda/Agenda (Doug Wilson).

They are difficult at times to wade through, dry, didactic. I am hungry to know everything I can know, and I’m told these are the wise men I should be listening to. My favorite is Credenda/Agenda because it’s funny. There are jokes and witticisms and quotes from British humorists. I don’t get all of it, or really most of it. Some of the words get tangled up together, but they feel smart. I’m told they are smart. Funny. Witty. This man with his beard who lives in a town that sounds Russian but is really not that far away from Colorado, up in Idaho.

He says the same things the other magazines do, things like how women should be helpers to their husbands and how husbands lead the home and have the final word and how children are clay to be shaped, but with humor. Funny, isn’t it, how men and women are so different and yet try to be the same. Hilarious how the liberals hate God so much they ignore gender differences and let women become CEOs. It’s just so funny. They’re not even smart enough to get the joke.