Hahahahahahahahaha!!!
Now that I've given you my condensed opinion, I shall elaborate.
I've known about the Mayan calendar since way before it became The Main Topic. I never saw it as anything to freak out about, and there are so many reasons why. To start with, let's say that the Mayans really did see this as the last age of human kind. Well, guess what, for them, it was. Their culture is no more. Congrats, Mayans! :P
So, moving right along...
How many times has the End of the World passed us by now? I lose count! But here are some of the biggies:
1) During the first few decades after the departure of Christ, the New Testament records the belief that the world would end before "this generation" had passed away. Paul believed this emphatically. The 1st century AD, as we now record it, came and went...but the 2nd century replaced it, and the 3rd, and the 4th, and the 5th, and the 6th...and by then I'm pretty sure that particular 1st century generation had in fact passed away. Unless there are immortals still walking the universe who lived in that time period. Or maybe trees count too, in which case we are still in danger from this one, and Jesus will return to kill us before the final remaining 1st century tree has passed away.
2) Now how 'bout that 7th century? Numerous people were convinced that the end would come in the clearly demonic year of 666 AD. How could it not? I mean, we've all read the book of Revelation, and we know that this number is bad news, right?
Incidentally, the concept of counting from "1 AD" didn't exist until 525 AD, at which point it would have otherwise been the year 1277 on the Roman calendar that existed in Jesus' time, or 4427/4428 according to the Hebrew calendar that existed, in a slightly rougher form, in the time of Jesus. PS - The book of Revelation was also written in the 1st century AD, when, as noted, the concept of it even being the 1st century AD did not exists at all.
So, what happened in 666 AD? Well...nothing really. A couple of notable abbeys were built...and then the world moved on to 667 without so much as a peep from "killer Jesus," Prince of Peace.
3) So all was well until that last year of numerically certain doom was turned upside-down in 999, and everyone feared the year 1000 AD! Surely after 1,000 years (actually 967 years after the Crucifixion/Resurrection, but who's counting?), loving Lord Jesus would return to destroy us all at last! But alas, after January 1...the world just kept on going, and later that year, Leif Ericson discovered America, but that's another story and shall be blogged about another time. Let us proceed with our numbers of doom!
4) I am skipping all of the little guys-holding-up-signs-every-day prophesies of doom, because they are always with us. Really, there seems to be an End Times prophesy for every day of every year if you look hard enough! Just sayin'. I'm also ignoring Nostradamus, because his prophesies are, in my opinion, stupid and just as impossible to accurately decipher as is the notorious and ever vexing book of Revelation.
5) Holy crap! Y2K (2000 AD for those not up on the lingo of the time)! The computers are all going to crash, the world is going to go down with them! Arnold Schwarzenegger starred in a movie about it! It's gonna happen! Oh yeah, and as if that weren't enough, Killer Jesus arrives at the stroke of midnight January 1! I was actually there for this one. And I wasn't buying any of it. I was the only one of my friends who didn't bother to get my computer Y2K-proofed before the big crash. It was commonly believed that all computers would go nuts when the year 1999 rolled over digitally to the year 2000, since our extremely advanced (for the time) computers most likely wouldn't know what the heck a "2" was doing in that first space now. I was unconvinced, and I was right. I laughed at them all when I got on my computer just after midnight and nothing had changed...except for the date, which read "January 1, 2000" without having destroyed the world. Then I laughed at the silly twits who were waiting in the dark for Killer Jesus to swoop down on a cloud and devour them all, in the name of a calendar that didn't exist until 492 years after his earthly ministry.
So, now it's 2012 AD, and the Mayan calendar runs out on December 21, and silly humans are once again in a frenzy over it, preparing to die. Even Killer Jesus, Prince of Peace, is expected to have an interest in the Mayan calendar for his long anticipated, bloodthirsty return, despite the fact that he lived in the Roman province of Judaea, an ocean away from the Mayans, about 967 years before Leif Ericson even discovered America and would therefore not likely have had any reason to use their then completely-unknown-to-the-Roman-Empire Mayan calendar when referencing the date of the End of the World, which, as it happens, he claimed not to have any real knowledge about anyway, but who cares about silly little details like that when the Mayan calendar ends in 2012! You better watch out! You better not cry! You better be good for goddness' sake, because Jesus is coming to kill you on December 21! Just ask any of your dumbest friends. They'll let you know it's all true.
I've been meaning to take bets with these people. I would bet anyone absurd amounts of money that the world will not end on December 21, 2012 AD. If I win, they will then owe me said absurd amounts of money. If they win, I will owe them nothing, because we'll all be in the belly of Killer Jesus at last, and the world will have come to an end, along with its ever frustrating economy.
The point is, dwelling on the End of the World is no fun. I'm for enjoying every day as it comes. The world could end right now for all we know. The world could end a few billion years from now. Heck, the world might not end at all, ever. Enjoy life. Embrace today. Endings happen all the time, but every ending leads to a new beginning. I shall spend my energy focused on these ever present new beginnings, because when the end comes for any of us, frankly, it's all over, isn't it? Why waste time sitting under our desks in the fetal position waiting for it to arrive, when we could be making the best of every moment up until it does?
And for the record, I think the entire concept of "Killer Jesus" returning to end the world is far fetched. I could go on here, but that's another blog entirely, and a far more theologically dense one at that. The Mayans said nothing of Killer Jesus. It just seems to be something that so many people around me believe in with such fervor. It bothers me. It's weird. And there's nothing solid in any Scripture to support it. Spare me your trippy quotes from the book of Revelation, please. I could write a whole blog on that book too, and perhaps at some point I shall.
Meanwhile...any takers on my bet? I'll bet anyone 1,212 cacao beans (ancient Mesoamerican currency) right now that the world will still be here for Christmas day on December 25. ;) Let's embrace and love the world and do all within our power to better it. After all, we are going to be here a while, and I for one am glad of it. :)
Glenn
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Dream Interpretation: A Nightmare About the Church
I had a nightmare last night. I basically always have either nightmares or, in recent years, lucid dreams. To me dreams are important. I see them as messages, either from the subconscious or somewhere else, a higher power. I suppose it depends on the dream, as to where I think it originated. This one, I see as a message from my subconscious, or a way of processing feelings. Angry feelings, hurt feelings. I'll give you the dream and my interpretation of it, but I'd love to hear anyone else's thoughts on the meaning of it all. Dream interpretation is of great interest to me. I even see my fiction writing as conscious dreaming, and I find meaning in my work quite often that I hadn't known was there.
So here's the dream:
I was an investigative reporter for a TV station, and I was doing a story on preachers abusing animals. It started with one preacher, at home, who I was visiting as a friend, not as a reporter. It was Christmas morning. His wife gave him a puppy for Christmas, wrapped in a box. The preacher unwrapped the present, opened the box, and pulled out the puppy (which was female - any detail could have significance) with sheer delight. His wife got on the phone to a friend, and was talking animatedly about what a wonderful Christmas they were having, when to her shock and dismay, her husband proceeded to "lovingly" rape the puppy. The preacher's wife tried to get him to stop, but she didn't end her phone conversation, nor did she let on to the person on the other end that anything was less than wonderful, as her husband continued his violation of the innocent puppy.
I was so upset! I left, because I'd just been there as a friend, and now I was fairly certain I couldn't be friends with this guy anymore. His wife couldn't stop him, I couldn't stop him, and the puppy was raped and nothing could be done about it. Then I got a call from my boss at the TV station, and that's when I learned this was an epidemic, and I was to do a story on preachers raping animals. I didn't want to do the story; I wanted to run from it, but it was my job, so I went with my camera man to a park that was reportedly where preachers gathered to do their unspeakable crimes.
It looked like a zoo, with artificial animal environments, and all manner of animals. And there were lots of preachers there, in the buff, doing their thing with the animals. And, like the preacher from the first part of the dream, they were all profoundly fat, had thick mustaches, and puffed up, slicked back hair. The hair was a variety of colors, depending on the preachers, black, silver, red, blonde, brown, but they were otherwise identical. Now that I think of it, they all looked sort of like Ron Jeremy. Yeesh. It was SO disgusting that I had to struggle not to vomit, but I mustered my strength and did the reporting. When my camera man and I got to the pool, where two preachers were trying to have their way with a visibly excited male walrus, however, I almost did lose my lunch. It was all I could do to wrap up the story and sign off, as the police arrived and started dragging the preachers away in handcuffs and white towels.
And then I woke up, and I still felt like throwing up for several minutes. It was really disturbing!
My interpretation, so far:
I am angry at the Church. I am disillusioned. I've been struggling with this for some time now, as a youth worker in the Church. I see so much hypocrisy, especially working at the conference level, where I see the politics of the larger machine at its best and worst on a scale of hundreds of churches. It seems like everyone has forgotten what we're doing here. And I say that very generally. I know several sincere and faithful clergy members and other church folks who for me represent the genuine article in Christianity. Unfortunately, they are not the ones with the most power, they are the ones who get marginalized by the greed of the machine that the Church has in many ways become.
Here are some more specific things: I see churches seeking money, money, and more money. Money for the sake of money. They cut youth and children's programs, or at the very least short change them, because young people don't tithe. They do nothing for the college age group. They even discourage anything to be done for this age group when someone tries on a volunteer basis...because it doesn't bring money into the church. "The church is a business," they say, "and the senior pastor is the CEO." This is the most oft repeated cop out of my experience. Frankly, trying to run the Church like a business is killing it. Yes, money keeps the lights on and the salaries paid, but to what end, if all the church is doing is seeking new ways to bring in money? I fully believe that if a church actually behaves like the body of Christ, as it's supposed to, the money will be there. I say if we put our faith in God, rather than in money, we'll make it. We'll have what we need to do our work, our mission, our ministry. Instead, I feel like the Church is raping the masses so that a select group of people can hold onto their illusions of power and their bloated salaries. It's not at all unlike what is happening with the United States Congress even as I write this. Sometimes, ironically, I feel like my primary job as a Christian youth leader is to protect the youth from the Church and foster their relationships with God and encourage their spirituality in spite of the Church.
And this isn't just a local Church thing, this isn't just one denomination, this is across the board. There are lots of good people in almost every Church, lots of good clergy that I know personally, but the money-and-numbers trend that Churches across the board seem to be following is the same. I say, if it comes down to cutting a ministry or mission, or losing the building, lose the building! It's the 21st century; we don't need a building in order to do God's work. If you look at Jesus for inspiration, you'll see they didn't even need a church building in the first century. Our priorities are all jacked up.
I found myself the other day having a conversation with someone about this, and I realized it seems, in contrast to the protestants, the Roman Catholics aren't putting money first. Their people in power just enable child rapists and wage war on women. Again, every Catholic that I know personally is a good person with genuinely Christian ethics; I am speaking in general of the powers that be, but come on; what is wrong with the Church in general? How can things have degenerated to such an insane degree?
So that anger, that outrage, I'm pretty darn sure, is where the dream originated. And I could go on about the hypocrisies I see. I haven't even touched on ilegal, money-saving business practices, racism, ageism, sexism, and homophobia, but for now I want to focus on the details of the dream.
The mustaches - I think the mustaches represented hiding their true faces. The Church pretends to be benign and all about the people and connecting them with God, but behind the proverbial "mustaches" they are becoming just another giant, powerful organization trying to take the people for all their worth. "Rapists of the innocent."
Fat - All the preachers were fat, and I think this is because I think so many preachers, and the Church itself, are bloated, glutting themselves on power and money.
Male - All the preachers were male. I think this is because of the whole "rape" theme. I personally don't automatically think of rapists as female, probably because I rarely hear of females raping people. Not that it doesn't happen.
Ron Jeremy - is gross. I think the way some Churches abuse and take advantage of faith and innocence is equally gross. Both make me want to throw up.
Animals - are innocent, like people who put their faith blindly in the Church as Christ's representative.
The preacher's wife - was ignoring the problem, but she was fully aware of it and trying not to let on to the person on the other end of the phone. Isn't this just like us? Are Christians not all, on some level, married to, or in partnership with, the Church? Do not all of us who are deeply involved with the Church see the hypocrisy? Do we not all try to get on with business as usual, as though nothing is wrong? I think we do. I think it's the easy answer. And I think it's the wrong answer.
So, to wrap this blog up, I want to say again that I know so many good Christians, so many good clergy people, in every denomination and in every Church that I have ever been involved with. Good missions and excellent ministries are all around us. But that's not what I was dreaming about. My subconscious isn't having trouble coping with the good parts of the Church.
I feel that it is our duty, those of us who want better from the Church, to be the change, to stand up to the bullies and thugs who would have us worship money and their power. Don't let them win, and the Church will again be the Church: an organization whose business is the feeding of God's flock, the nurturing of faith and human relationships.
Let us not forget: Jesus was ultimately betrayed by Judas, and Judas was the keeper of the common purse. He traded Jesus' ministry for thirty pieces of silver. We mustn't allow our leaders in the Church to do the same.
So here's the dream:
I was an investigative reporter for a TV station, and I was doing a story on preachers abusing animals. It started with one preacher, at home, who I was visiting as a friend, not as a reporter. It was Christmas morning. His wife gave him a puppy for Christmas, wrapped in a box. The preacher unwrapped the present, opened the box, and pulled out the puppy (which was female - any detail could have significance) with sheer delight. His wife got on the phone to a friend, and was talking animatedly about what a wonderful Christmas they were having, when to her shock and dismay, her husband proceeded to "lovingly" rape the puppy. The preacher's wife tried to get him to stop, but she didn't end her phone conversation, nor did she let on to the person on the other end that anything was less than wonderful, as her husband continued his violation of the innocent puppy.
I was so upset! I left, because I'd just been there as a friend, and now I was fairly certain I couldn't be friends with this guy anymore. His wife couldn't stop him, I couldn't stop him, and the puppy was raped and nothing could be done about it. Then I got a call from my boss at the TV station, and that's when I learned this was an epidemic, and I was to do a story on preachers raping animals. I didn't want to do the story; I wanted to run from it, but it was my job, so I went with my camera man to a park that was reportedly where preachers gathered to do their unspeakable crimes.
It looked like a zoo, with artificial animal environments, and all manner of animals. And there were lots of preachers there, in the buff, doing their thing with the animals. And, like the preacher from the first part of the dream, they were all profoundly fat, had thick mustaches, and puffed up, slicked back hair. The hair was a variety of colors, depending on the preachers, black, silver, red, blonde, brown, but they were otherwise identical. Now that I think of it, they all looked sort of like Ron Jeremy. Yeesh. It was SO disgusting that I had to struggle not to vomit, but I mustered my strength and did the reporting. When my camera man and I got to the pool, where two preachers were trying to have their way with a visibly excited male walrus, however, I almost did lose my lunch. It was all I could do to wrap up the story and sign off, as the police arrived and started dragging the preachers away in handcuffs and white towels.
And then I woke up, and I still felt like throwing up for several minutes. It was really disturbing!
My interpretation, so far:
I am angry at the Church. I am disillusioned. I've been struggling with this for some time now, as a youth worker in the Church. I see so much hypocrisy, especially working at the conference level, where I see the politics of the larger machine at its best and worst on a scale of hundreds of churches. It seems like everyone has forgotten what we're doing here. And I say that very generally. I know several sincere and faithful clergy members and other church folks who for me represent the genuine article in Christianity. Unfortunately, they are not the ones with the most power, they are the ones who get marginalized by the greed of the machine that the Church has in many ways become.
Here are some more specific things: I see churches seeking money, money, and more money. Money for the sake of money. They cut youth and children's programs, or at the very least short change them, because young people don't tithe. They do nothing for the college age group. They even discourage anything to be done for this age group when someone tries on a volunteer basis...because it doesn't bring money into the church. "The church is a business," they say, "and the senior pastor is the CEO." This is the most oft repeated cop out of my experience. Frankly, trying to run the Church like a business is killing it. Yes, money keeps the lights on and the salaries paid, but to what end, if all the church is doing is seeking new ways to bring in money? I fully believe that if a church actually behaves like the body of Christ, as it's supposed to, the money will be there. I say if we put our faith in God, rather than in money, we'll make it. We'll have what we need to do our work, our mission, our ministry. Instead, I feel like the Church is raping the masses so that a select group of people can hold onto their illusions of power and their bloated salaries. It's not at all unlike what is happening with the United States Congress even as I write this. Sometimes, ironically, I feel like my primary job as a Christian youth leader is to protect the youth from the Church and foster their relationships with God and encourage their spirituality in spite of the Church.
And this isn't just a local Church thing, this isn't just one denomination, this is across the board. There are lots of good people in almost every Church, lots of good clergy that I know personally, but the money-and-numbers trend that Churches across the board seem to be following is the same. I say, if it comes down to cutting a ministry or mission, or losing the building, lose the building! It's the 21st century; we don't need a building in order to do God's work. If you look at Jesus for inspiration, you'll see they didn't even need a church building in the first century. Our priorities are all jacked up.
I found myself the other day having a conversation with someone about this, and I realized it seems, in contrast to the protestants, the Roman Catholics aren't putting money first. Their people in power just enable child rapists and wage war on women. Again, every Catholic that I know personally is a good person with genuinely Christian ethics; I am speaking in general of the powers that be, but come on; what is wrong with the Church in general? How can things have degenerated to such an insane degree?
So that anger, that outrage, I'm pretty darn sure, is where the dream originated. And I could go on about the hypocrisies I see. I haven't even touched on ilegal, money-saving business practices, racism, ageism, sexism, and homophobia, but for now I want to focus on the details of the dream.
The mustaches - I think the mustaches represented hiding their true faces. The Church pretends to be benign and all about the people and connecting them with God, but behind the proverbial "mustaches" they are becoming just another giant, powerful organization trying to take the people for all their worth. "Rapists of the innocent."
Fat - All the preachers were fat, and I think this is because I think so many preachers, and the Church itself, are bloated, glutting themselves on power and money.
Male - All the preachers were male. I think this is because of the whole "rape" theme. I personally don't automatically think of rapists as female, probably because I rarely hear of females raping people. Not that it doesn't happen.
Ron Jeremy - is gross. I think the way some Churches abuse and take advantage of faith and innocence is equally gross. Both make me want to throw up.
Animals - are innocent, like people who put their faith blindly in the Church as Christ's representative.
The preacher's wife - was ignoring the problem, but she was fully aware of it and trying not to let on to the person on the other end of the phone. Isn't this just like us? Are Christians not all, on some level, married to, or in partnership with, the Church? Do not all of us who are deeply involved with the Church see the hypocrisy? Do we not all try to get on with business as usual, as though nothing is wrong? I think we do. I think it's the easy answer. And I think it's the wrong answer.
So, to wrap this blog up, I want to say again that I know so many good Christians, so many good clergy people, in every denomination and in every Church that I have ever been involved with. Good missions and excellent ministries are all around us. But that's not what I was dreaming about. My subconscious isn't having trouble coping with the good parts of the Church.
I feel that it is our duty, those of us who want better from the Church, to be the change, to stand up to the bullies and thugs who would have us worship money and their power. Don't let them win, and the Church will again be the Church: an organization whose business is the feeding of God's flock, the nurturing of faith and human relationships.
Let us not forget: Jesus was ultimately betrayed by Judas, and Judas was the keeper of the common purse. He traded Jesus' ministry for thirty pieces of silver. We mustn't allow our leaders in the Church to do the same.
Monday, October 31, 2011
I'm listening to Depeche Mode right now. Why? Because I'm copying my old CDs into my iTunes library. Things change. I remember when cassette tapes were the newest thing, and then we got CDs.
I also remember growing up in the 70s and 80s, and what the atmosphere was like, racially. I remember being white and being automatically despised for it by strangers of other ethnicities, because it was assumed that I was privileged; that I thought I was better than them. Well, I was privileged because of my ethnicity...I just didn't know it at the time. I didn't have a concept of it. I didn't understand why they thought they were getting the short end of the stick. Didn't they have all the same rights as I did? Well, they did by that time...technically.
Reality was another story, though. I remember coming to the realization of how unfair it all was. I remember when I was old enough to be horrified by the "N word." I remember hearing my grandparents use it, and they meant it too. I remember teachers treating people differently because of their race. As children, we always knew which teachers hated Asians, which ones hated black people, which ones hates Hispanics ("Mexicans"), and which ones hated white people. I had a black teacher when I was in the fourth grade who actually kept a phony grade book to prove that all the white boys were failing and not doing their homework. Any time we turned in well-written papers, she would give us zeroes, with a note in red ink on the top of the paper: "Who wrote this?" Most of the other white boys in her class had to go through the humiliation of standing in front of the class in tears, after telling their parents what was really going on, and telling the class "I'm sorry for lying about Miss Conway." I remember watching one sobbing boy in particular, when I was going through the same issue myself, and seeing my own none-too-distant fate with dread. Fortunately, my parents believed me. They pulled me out of that school early, when my father got transferred, and I moved back to Dallas with him before the rest of my family joined us.
It was a very strange thing for me, realizing what racism was, and that usually the situation was reversed. Usually, it was hateful white people who went out of their way to hurt races they felt negatively about. I remember feeling angry about it, even as a child. I remember teachers and other adults in my world getting frustrated with me, disgusted with me, because I wouldn't cooperate when they asked me to treat someone badly because they were different. I remember the realization that it was all true; that white people really did think they were better than everyone else, and I remember hating myself for being one of them.
I had friends of all races growing up in public schools in the '70s and '80s. It wasn't my grandparents' world anymore. It wasn't even my parents' world, which saw the first days of Integration. For my generation, Integration was a thing of the past. We couldn't imagine "separate but equal" facilities. It seemed insane to us. By the '90s, when I was in high school, for us racism really seemed to have vanished. It was an issue our parents and grandparents struggled with, but we didn't really grasp. There were isolated incidents, but for the most part, the teenagers I knew in the '90s didn't see people "in color." We just saw people; friends and adversaries not because of what they were, but who they were.
Today, however, it seems all of the racism I may have naively thought was gone in the '90s, has returned in full force--ugly, and nastier than anything I've seen since my bad experience in the fourth grade. Racism is louder around me at this point in my life than it ever was in the '70s, when true equality was still a fairly new concept.
I keep this in mind in my writing. My writing is, after all, most concerned with equality and the power of diversity. That's why, sometimes, I have a very hard time writing certain characters, certain attitudes.
My serial novel, The Chronicles of Nightfire, Texas, has just begun a re-release in various e-book formats. When I was reading over the text of the previous release, making some polishes, I was very tempted to remove the "N word," because it makes me cringe. It made me cringe when I wrote it into the dialogue for the original publication. It made me cringe all the more, because the characters used the word so casually. But that was my experience in the '70s. It was all around me. Casual racism. Casual hatred. Most people didn't even realize that they were being hateful; that they were, despite any protestations they may have to the label, being racist.
The casual racism I witnessed in the 1970s has become a central theme in The Chronicles of Nightfire, Texas. As I've continued writing the series over the years, the theme has escalated. I've had Sam struggle with being labeled an "Uncle Tom" by his family and his girlfriend; I've put him in situations that have shown him that not all white people are as accepting as his friends. He's been refused by white cashiers, he's come face to face with the fact that one of his white friends' family used to own his family. He's experienced both sides of the issue. I've done my best in the series to show what I saw happening, from a white perspective, and I used to think I was writing about irrelevant issues. I was heartbroken to realize, as I made the decision to leave the "N word" grotesquely present for the re-release, that this particular issue had become profoundly relevant once again.
It's hard for me to write a lot of what is said in the series, because I am so against it, but I feel I must show my readers what casual racism looks like to me, and what I see as the consequences. The third story arch in The Chronicles of Nightfire, Texas that I'm preparing to write is set to be titled "White Devils." I'm bringing the issue to a head.
Now don't hear me saying that there's anything wrong with being white. There isn't. While I went through a period of hating my own race as a child, I was eventually able to separate race from attitude. Stereotypes are just as hateful as slurs, and Caucasians are no strangers to being victimized by stereotypes. White privilege, however, is very real; it's the way the United States of America is set up, it's the filter through which everything seems to pass, and it is wrong. It is something our society needs to correct, and no amount of hatred on either side of the issue is ever going to solve the problem. Somehow, someday, "equal" needs to really mean equal.
But as I said, there is nothing wrong with being Caucasian. It's okay to be proud of your heritage. It's right to love one's self. We can't truly love others if we don't. The danger comes when anyone loves themselves and their own heritage so much that they begin to believe it superior to the heritage of others. It is wrong to ignore this problem in one's own race. We can't ignore all the people who see "white privilege" as a good thing, as a birth right, and neither can we ignore Miss Conway. The hatred has to stop on all sides. If it is allowed to survive anywhere at all, it will grow back, like a cancer; like it has in recent years.
I honestly see racism at the root of our nation's political leaders' refusal to resolve any pressing issues in recent years. The economy is in chaos, jobs are scarce, and all that so many politicians seem to cry out against are non-issues, like the race of the president who presents a workable solution. No no, we can't let him take any credit for fixing any of the problems. Better to let them escalate until one of us is in office. It goes far beyond the age old Republicans vs. Democrats sort of gridlock we've faced in Congress before. Like all blind hatred, it is insidious. It threatens to destroy us all.
It sickens me.
I also remember growing up in the 70s and 80s, and what the atmosphere was like, racially. I remember being white and being automatically despised for it by strangers of other ethnicities, because it was assumed that I was privileged; that I thought I was better than them. Well, I was privileged because of my ethnicity...I just didn't know it at the time. I didn't have a concept of it. I didn't understand why they thought they were getting the short end of the stick. Didn't they have all the same rights as I did? Well, they did by that time...technically.
Reality was another story, though. I remember coming to the realization of how unfair it all was. I remember when I was old enough to be horrified by the "N word." I remember hearing my grandparents use it, and they meant it too. I remember teachers treating people differently because of their race. As children, we always knew which teachers hated Asians, which ones hated black people, which ones hates Hispanics ("Mexicans"), and which ones hated white people. I had a black teacher when I was in the fourth grade who actually kept a phony grade book to prove that all the white boys were failing and not doing their homework. Any time we turned in well-written papers, she would give us zeroes, with a note in red ink on the top of the paper: "Who wrote this?" Most of the other white boys in her class had to go through the humiliation of standing in front of the class in tears, after telling their parents what was really going on, and telling the class "I'm sorry for lying about Miss Conway." I remember watching one sobbing boy in particular, when I was going through the same issue myself, and seeing my own none-too-distant fate with dread. Fortunately, my parents believed me. They pulled me out of that school early, when my father got transferred, and I moved back to Dallas with him before the rest of my family joined us.
It was a very strange thing for me, realizing what racism was, and that usually the situation was reversed. Usually, it was hateful white people who went out of their way to hurt races they felt negatively about. I remember feeling angry about it, even as a child. I remember teachers and other adults in my world getting frustrated with me, disgusted with me, because I wouldn't cooperate when they asked me to treat someone badly because they were different. I remember the realization that it was all true; that white people really did think they were better than everyone else, and I remember hating myself for being one of them.
I had friends of all races growing up in public schools in the '70s and '80s. It wasn't my grandparents' world anymore. It wasn't even my parents' world, which saw the first days of Integration. For my generation, Integration was a thing of the past. We couldn't imagine "separate but equal" facilities. It seemed insane to us. By the '90s, when I was in high school, for us racism really seemed to have vanished. It was an issue our parents and grandparents struggled with, but we didn't really grasp. There were isolated incidents, but for the most part, the teenagers I knew in the '90s didn't see people "in color." We just saw people; friends and adversaries not because of what they were, but who they were.
Today, however, it seems all of the racism I may have naively thought was gone in the '90s, has returned in full force--ugly, and nastier than anything I've seen since my bad experience in the fourth grade. Racism is louder around me at this point in my life than it ever was in the '70s, when true equality was still a fairly new concept.
I keep this in mind in my writing. My writing is, after all, most concerned with equality and the power of diversity. That's why, sometimes, I have a very hard time writing certain characters, certain attitudes.
My serial novel, The Chronicles of Nightfire, Texas, has just begun a re-release in various e-book formats. When I was reading over the text of the previous release, making some polishes, I was very tempted to remove the "N word," because it makes me cringe. It made me cringe when I wrote it into the dialogue for the original publication. It made me cringe all the more, because the characters used the word so casually. But that was my experience in the '70s. It was all around me. Casual racism. Casual hatred. Most people didn't even realize that they were being hateful; that they were, despite any protestations they may have to the label, being racist.
The casual racism I witnessed in the 1970s has become a central theme in The Chronicles of Nightfire, Texas. As I've continued writing the series over the years, the theme has escalated. I've had Sam struggle with being labeled an "Uncle Tom" by his family and his girlfriend; I've put him in situations that have shown him that not all white people are as accepting as his friends. He's been refused by white cashiers, he's come face to face with the fact that one of his white friends' family used to own his family. He's experienced both sides of the issue. I've done my best in the series to show what I saw happening, from a white perspective, and I used to think I was writing about irrelevant issues. I was heartbroken to realize, as I made the decision to leave the "N word" grotesquely present for the re-release, that this particular issue had become profoundly relevant once again.
It's hard for me to write a lot of what is said in the series, because I am so against it, but I feel I must show my readers what casual racism looks like to me, and what I see as the consequences. The third story arch in The Chronicles of Nightfire, Texas that I'm preparing to write is set to be titled "White Devils." I'm bringing the issue to a head.
Now don't hear me saying that there's anything wrong with being white. There isn't. While I went through a period of hating my own race as a child, I was eventually able to separate race from attitude. Stereotypes are just as hateful as slurs, and Caucasians are no strangers to being victimized by stereotypes. White privilege, however, is very real; it's the way the United States of America is set up, it's the filter through which everything seems to pass, and it is wrong. It is something our society needs to correct, and no amount of hatred on either side of the issue is ever going to solve the problem. Somehow, someday, "equal" needs to really mean equal.
But as I said, there is nothing wrong with being Caucasian. It's okay to be proud of your heritage. It's right to love one's self. We can't truly love others if we don't. The danger comes when anyone loves themselves and their own heritage so much that they begin to believe it superior to the heritage of others. It is wrong to ignore this problem in one's own race. We can't ignore all the people who see "white privilege" as a good thing, as a birth right, and neither can we ignore Miss Conway. The hatred has to stop on all sides. If it is allowed to survive anywhere at all, it will grow back, like a cancer; like it has in recent years.
I honestly see racism at the root of our nation's political leaders' refusal to resolve any pressing issues in recent years. The economy is in chaos, jobs are scarce, and all that so many politicians seem to cry out against are non-issues, like the race of the president who presents a workable solution. No no, we can't let him take any credit for fixing any of the problems. Better to let them escalate until one of us is in office. It goes far beyond the age old Republicans vs. Democrats sort of gridlock we've faced in Congress before. Like all blind hatred, it is insidious. It threatens to destroy us all.
It sickens me.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Deep in Thought
Hello, readers. There is so much on my mind as of late, that I find it difficult to prioritize. I don't know which issue I feel the most passionately about. So, I don't feel right writing about one over the others just now. I'll tell you, just briefly, some of the things that I've been contemplating.
Just a week ago, I returned to Dallas from a mission trip to San Diego with my youth group, and I'd love to tell you about it. While it was a good trip, it also brought up some old struggles of mine with the church, some resentments were brought to the surface for me, and I've been struggling with that ever since.
Racism has been on my mind. There was a poster I saw in San Diego that was subtly anti-white. The border patrol that we passed on the journey there and back again were blatantly racist against Hispanics. It really angered me, strange as it sounds, that our van and our trailer didn't even get stopped once, because they took one look at me and decided I wasn't transporting immigrants. Meanwhile, a very American Hispanic family had been pulled over and harassed, in a small family car that had no place to hide anything. I'd like to vent about that.
Proposition 8 has been declared unconstitutional, and I'm extremely happy about that! I'd love to share all of my thoughts with you!
I've had some very profound lucid dreams, and I'd like to elaborate on the experience. I've been experimenting with this for years now, and I would very much like to chronicle my progress.
I've been re-evaluating my life, as a result of all of these things and more. I'm in a place where I feel I must do something new, but what form that new action will take remains a mystery. There are things in my life that I want to fight out loud and unyieldingly. There are things in my life that I want to build on and make stronger. There are people in my life who are hurting me and disappointing me, there are people who are more like bad habits than friends, and there are people in my life who are impressing me to an extreme and making me feel quite proud to know them. Relationships are of the utmost importance. I've been re-examining my relationship priorities on every level.
There really is so much to write about. I could go on for pages and pages about any one of these topics. For now, enjoy my blurbs. Perhaps I'll come back to each of them with more to say in the days ahead.
Just a week ago, I returned to Dallas from a mission trip to San Diego with my youth group, and I'd love to tell you about it. While it was a good trip, it also brought up some old struggles of mine with the church, some resentments were brought to the surface for me, and I've been struggling with that ever since.
Racism has been on my mind. There was a poster I saw in San Diego that was subtly anti-white. The border patrol that we passed on the journey there and back again were blatantly racist against Hispanics. It really angered me, strange as it sounds, that our van and our trailer didn't even get stopped once, because they took one look at me and decided I wasn't transporting immigrants. Meanwhile, a very American Hispanic family had been pulled over and harassed, in a small family car that had no place to hide anything. I'd like to vent about that.
Proposition 8 has been declared unconstitutional, and I'm extremely happy about that! I'd love to share all of my thoughts with you!
I've had some very profound lucid dreams, and I'd like to elaborate on the experience. I've been experimenting with this for years now, and I would very much like to chronicle my progress.
I've been re-evaluating my life, as a result of all of these things and more. I'm in a place where I feel I must do something new, but what form that new action will take remains a mystery. There are things in my life that I want to fight out loud and unyieldingly. There are things in my life that I want to build on and make stronger. There are people in my life who are hurting me and disappointing me, there are people who are more like bad habits than friends, and there are people in my life who are impressing me to an extreme and making me feel quite proud to know them. Relationships are of the utmost importance. I've been re-examining my relationship priorities on every level.
There really is so much to write about. I could go on for pages and pages about any one of these topics. For now, enjoy my blurbs. Perhaps I'll come back to each of them with more to say in the days ahead.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
The Responsibility of Writing Gay Heroes
I'm listening to Lady Gaga right now, because she's tremendous!
So I've been thinking about things. About how unfair things are for gay teens. About how almost all billboards, all movies, all TV shows, commercials, magazines, et cetera display some sort of heterosexual entanglement, and where gay characters are used, they are used as side-kicks, comedy relief. I know there are series and films out there that have the gay community front and center and that do a good job, for the most part, of showing gay life. I just see a need for gay characters to have a larger role in mainstream media. Respectable gay characters, not just funny, camp-tastic side-kicks.
The fact is, the only books and films that have gay characters "center stage" are marketed as a genre, "gay fiction," "gay television," "gay cinema." I remember when Michael Craft fazed out his gay detective series several years back, and his next book was marketed as a story "for everybody." Translation: the protagonist was heterosexual. Why does that make the story "for everybody?" Why wasn't the Mark Manning series for everybody? Just because the protagonist was gay? That meant heterosexuals couldn't read it? It just seems unfair, considering that if the tables were turned, if gay people couldn't read anything with heterosexual characters front and center, gay people would never read most of the best-sellers out there, nor would they watch much TV, or ever go to movies outside of Sundance. So to me, the claim that gay characters are exclusively for gay readers and heterosexual characters are for "everybody" is absurd.
If you haven't come to this conclusion through reading my work, let me say it now: the driving point of all my work is the equality of all people. As an idealistic pro-social activist, I see it as a responsibility to try and break through this narrow-minded, bigoted standard. When it comes to race, gender,age, and sexual orientation, I strive to offer a mixed cast in all of my fiction.
Granted, I have used gay characters more often in supporting roles, but never because of marketing. Tom Don in Cry, Wolf was gay, but the main character was heterosexual. This was simply because Daniel was born that way in my imagination. No thought went into it at all. He just was. Tom, however, later got his own short story, and there wasn't a heterosexual to be seen in that one, except, maybe, the dog. The jury is still out on Sampson.
In the Metrognomes series, the gay characters are once again seen in supporting roles. The warriors Fraternus and Jono are a same-sex, married couple, and they are going to shine throughout the series for their heroics. An'sep No'tall is gay, but misguided. Jared is 50/50 bi-sexual, and I made a point to illustrate the differences and how accepted they are in gnome society with the conversation between the teenage apprentices about their "favorites."
The two central characters, Ak'ten and Pete, are heterosexual, not because it makes the story more marketable, but because the story is more about friendship than sexual romance. If either one of the two male protagonists were gay or bi-sexual, there would be an element of sexual tension between them, and it would get in the way of the purity of their friendship. Like with An'sep and his crush on his heterosexual cousin Kazkal. The story of Ak'ten and Pete is as purely about platonic friendship as the story of Fraternus and Jono is a tale of eros between two heroes. While it was tempting at one point to make Ak'ten bi-sexual, I realized in the writing that the balance of the story really required him to be heterosexual.
So, yes, the gay characters in Metrognomes are supporting characters, but just wait until you see how incredibly well they support the plot as it develops. These characters will shine almost as brightly as the protagonists when all is said and done.
In The Chronicles of Nightfire, Texas, I have recently revealed the sexual orientation of Valen Alexas to be sort of a 90/10 bi-sexuality, with emphasis on his love of men. He's one of four central characters in the series, and the other three are heterosexual, which places Valen in the minority.
I struggle with this, because I think gay people deserve to have heroes, like themselves, in the spotlight. Sometimes I try to force a character's orientation, only to find the story really needs them to be something else. Recently, this problem has at long last given me my first solo gay hero.
In the story "The Dragons of Nod," I initially wanted the protagonist, Prince Joryn, to be perfectly bi-sexual. I'm interested in bi-sexuality. I'm envious of it. I think it would be wonderful to be attracted to both genders, to be able to see the beauty in them that God sees, to see what it is that makes their paramours' hearts skip a beat when they look into their eyes. Alas, I am only able to truly see this in one gender, but I'm tremendously happy that way. I just think it would be marvelous to explore bi-sexuality through a protagonist's eyes, to allow that character the perfect freedom to fall in love with any of the supporting cast. I am still trying to find a character that can do this, but it was not to be Prince Joryn.
As I worked on the story for "The Dragons of Nod," I realized that the character needed to be 100% gay. His quest to save his lover from the dragons was more intense for me, when it became clear that Galen represented the absolute epitome of what Joryn valued in a significant other. In other words, there could be no other love in his heart, neither male nor female. It was only Galen. I realized how tremendous this revelation was pretty quickly. I had a gay hero, the protagonist of the story, going off to rescue his male lover from dragons. The heterosexual characters fell into the supporting role, and like my gay supporting characters, you'll see that they shine as well as the series progresses. The significance here is that it's the gay hero who carries the story and the series of stories to follow, and this isn't a "gay" story, rather, it is a fantasy story in which the protagonist is gay. It's a story for everyone, and Prince Joryn is the sort of hero I think we all would like to be.
I think readers were puzzled by this. "The Dragons of Nod," is the only story I've ever published for which I received absolutely no feedback. I think people weren't expecting the hero to go off to rescue another young man, they weren't expecting him to be in love with that man. I think perhaps some readers wondered if it was "okay" to enjoy the daring adventures of such a hero.
I'm going to keep writing about Prince Joryn. He has many adventures ahead of him. I assure you, this young gay hero's story is a story for "everyone." I hope my readers will come to admire him as much as I do, as he leads us all into boundless adventure, all the while showing gay readers that they do not need to be the side-kicks in life, that they are far greater than mere comic relief in the grand adventure of life, in the never ending saga of our world, that they too can be heroes, bold and unyielding. These are noble qualities that should be desired by everyone. Wouldn't you agree?
Peace,
Glenn
So I've been thinking about things. About how unfair things are for gay teens. About how almost all billboards, all movies, all TV shows, commercials, magazines, et cetera display some sort of heterosexual entanglement, and where gay characters are used, they are used as side-kicks, comedy relief. I know there are series and films out there that have the gay community front and center and that do a good job, for the most part, of showing gay life. I just see a need for gay characters to have a larger role in mainstream media. Respectable gay characters, not just funny, camp-tastic side-kicks.
The fact is, the only books and films that have gay characters "center stage" are marketed as a genre, "gay fiction," "gay television," "gay cinema." I remember when Michael Craft fazed out his gay detective series several years back, and his next book was marketed as a story "for everybody." Translation: the protagonist was heterosexual. Why does that make the story "for everybody?" Why wasn't the Mark Manning series for everybody? Just because the protagonist was gay? That meant heterosexuals couldn't read it? It just seems unfair, considering that if the tables were turned, if gay people couldn't read anything with heterosexual characters front and center, gay people would never read most of the best-sellers out there, nor would they watch much TV, or ever go to movies outside of Sundance. So to me, the claim that gay characters are exclusively for gay readers and heterosexual characters are for "everybody" is absurd.
If you haven't come to this conclusion through reading my work, let me say it now: the driving point of all my work is the equality of all people. As an idealistic pro-social activist, I see it as a responsibility to try and break through this narrow-minded, bigoted standard. When it comes to race, gender,age, and sexual orientation, I strive to offer a mixed cast in all of my fiction.
Granted, I have used gay characters more often in supporting roles, but never because of marketing. Tom Don in Cry, Wolf was gay, but the main character was heterosexual. This was simply because Daniel was born that way in my imagination. No thought went into it at all. He just was. Tom, however, later got his own short story, and there wasn't a heterosexual to be seen in that one, except, maybe, the dog. The jury is still out on Sampson.
In the Metrognomes series, the gay characters are once again seen in supporting roles. The warriors Fraternus and Jono are a same-sex, married couple, and they are going to shine throughout the series for their heroics. An'sep No'tall is gay, but misguided. Jared is 50/50 bi-sexual, and I made a point to illustrate the differences and how accepted they are in gnome society with the conversation between the teenage apprentices about their "favorites."
The two central characters, Ak'ten and Pete, are heterosexual, not because it makes the story more marketable, but because the story is more about friendship than sexual romance. If either one of the two male protagonists were gay or bi-sexual, there would be an element of sexual tension between them, and it would get in the way of the purity of their friendship. Like with An'sep and his crush on his heterosexual cousin Kazkal. The story of Ak'ten and Pete is as purely about platonic friendship as the story of Fraternus and Jono is a tale of eros between two heroes. While it was tempting at one point to make Ak'ten bi-sexual, I realized in the writing that the balance of the story really required him to be heterosexual.
So, yes, the gay characters in Metrognomes are supporting characters, but just wait until you see how incredibly well they support the plot as it develops. These characters will shine almost as brightly as the protagonists when all is said and done.
In The Chronicles of Nightfire, Texas, I have recently revealed the sexual orientation of Valen Alexas to be sort of a 90/10 bi-sexuality, with emphasis on his love of men. He's one of four central characters in the series, and the other three are heterosexual, which places Valen in the minority.
I struggle with this, because I think gay people deserve to have heroes, like themselves, in the spotlight. Sometimes I try to force a character's orientation, only to find the story really needs them to be something else. Recently, this problem has at long last given me my first solo gay hero.
In the story "The Dragons of Nod," I initially wanted the protagonist, Prince Joryn, to be perfectly bi-sexual. I'm interested in bi-sexuality. I'm envious of it. I think it would be wonderful to be attracted to both genders, to be able to see the beauty in them that God sees, to see what it is that makes their paramours' hearts skip a beat when they look into their eyes. Alas, I am only able to truly see this in one gender, but I'm tremendously happy that way. I just think it would be marvelous to explore bi-sexuality through a protagonist's eyes, to allow that character the perfect freedom to fall in love with any of the supporting cast. I am still trying to find a character that can do this, but it was not to be Prince Joryn.
As I worked on the story for "The Dragons of Nod," I realized that the character needed to be 100% gay. His quest to save his lover from the dragons was more intense for me, when it became clear that Galen represented the absolute epitome of what Joryn valued in a significant other. In other words, there could be no other love in his heart, neither male nor female. It was only Galen. I realized how tremendous this revelation was pretty quickly. I had a gay hero, the protagonist of the story, going off to rescue his male lover from dragons. The heterosexual characters fell into the supporting role, and like my gay supporting characters, you'll see that they shine as well as the series progresses. The significance here is that it's the gay hero who carries the story and the series of stories to follow, and this isn't a "gay" story, rather, it is a fantasy story in which the protagonist is gay. It's a story for everyone, and Prince Joryn is the sort of hero I think we all would like to be.
I think readers were puzzled by this. "The Dragons of Nod," is the only story I've ever published for which I received absolutely no feedback. I think people weren't expecting the hero to go off to rescue another young man, they weren't expecting him to be in love with that man. I think perhaps some readers wondered if it was "okay" to enjoy the daring adventures of such a hero.
I'm going to keep writing about Prince Joryn. He has many adventures ahead of him. I assure you, this young gay hero's story is a story for "everyone." I hope my readers will come to admire him as much as I do, as he leads us all into boundless adventure, all the while showing gay readers that they do not need to be the side-kicks in life, that they are far greater than mere comic relief in the grand adventure of life, in the never ending saga of our world, that they too can be heroes, bold and unyielding. These are noble qualities that should be desired by everyone. Wouldn't you agree?
Peace,
Glenn
Monday, May 31, 2010
Falling in Love with Life Again
I'm listening to Neil Diamond as I write this. Why? Because he's amazing.
I've spent the past week getting away from it all, before the summer starts. As a youth program director, my summers are non-stop, and I knew I needed the time to catch my breath in order to make it through the next three months of my extremely cool life.
Over the course of the week, I took time to pray and seek direction. Too often, I think, we all lose sight of where we should be going, because where we are doesn't allow us the time to step back and view our lives from a distance. I've felt a strong pull in so many directions lately, and it's been nothing less than overwhelmingly emotional and confusing. I rediscovered myself this week.
I've been touched by so much anger lately. Anger at Christians who don't act like they should, mostly. Anger over homophobia. I read new things almost daily about people spreading their agendas of hatred and intolerance throughout the world. It makes me sick. I've felt like I needed to do more, but haven't know just exactly how to do it.
I remembered, this week, how outspoken I used to be, before I started working for the church in 2005. I was so much bolder, unwilling to be cowed by the hateful, frightened ignorance of people who obviously didn't know what they were talking about. I actually got my job at the church by facing down homophobia, not letting them get away with a bigoted decision that would only hurt the youth of our church.
So what happened? I let the church push me down. For fear of losing my job and my ability to be there, doing what I do for our teenagers, I stopped speaking out as fervently. I stopped announcing my presence in the world, so to speak. I stopped writing.
This week, I had a chance to see all of that for what it was. All I've really published since taking the youth director job at White Rock have been a book I'd already finished writing, one short story, and a whole slew of weird haikus. I see now that by letting myself be silenced at work, I simply went silent. My writing was always bold, delivering balls-out messages about my opinions, my faith, acceptance of others, and the power of diversity. The stories in my head in recent years were no different, but I couldn't put myself out there like I used to. I knew that if I did, I risked everything. I already have to tell parents, "Don't let your sons or daughters read my first two books. I was in a different place when I wrote them." Subconsciously, the whole idea of saving my job has been stifling me as an artist with something to say.
But that's not the only thing I've been carrying for the past five years. When I wrote my latest book, I was all excited to write the next four books in the series. The story is about the power of diversity, of course, but it's also about the power of friendship. Shortly after I finished the first book, I lost my closest friends.
I could never get back into the story like I had been. I lost the feel of it. I couldn't relate to the main characters anymore. Relationships are everything to me, and I put so much from my relationships into my writing. When my most powerful friendships broke, they took my heart with them. I struggled through a deep depression for most of those five years. I felt alone, unlovable. I wondered if I'd ever find the sorts of friendships I'd had again. Now that I'm thinking more clearly, I'd say that I hope not. Those friendships broke, because the people on the other end gave up on themselves, and left me to my own devices. One of them even left the state. How does one write a believable saga of friendship, when he no longer believes in it?
I'm still in contact with both of those old friends. I never see the one in California, but we talk sometimes, briefly, on the phone. Never do we venture anywhere near the closeness we once shared. The other friend, I've reconciled with. We talk on the phone and even get together on occasion. I'm learning about the new person she's become, now that she's confronted her inner demons and healed from the path she took before, and I'm enjoying it. Still, neither one of them is an every day friend anymore. They can't be. Life pulls us all along, and our individual paths tend to separate us from people, even if we do stay friends. It's no one's fault. If we stayed where we were when we were in our late teens and early twenties, we'd get stale, never grow. We'd die, at least as far as the parts of us with anything worth while to contribute to the world are concerned.
This week, I found myself again. I hadn't even realized that I wasn't broken anymore. The busyness of my schedule just hadn't allowed for enough self-analyzation. I realized who I needed to be from here on out. I need to be that bold writer again, with something to say. I need to be outspoken again, to refuse to be silenced. I also need to keep being the youth director. I need to keep doing what I can to guide and encourage our youth. These are both incredible gifts to me from God, these skills, my courage, my way with words. I must never again let one set of gifts snuff out another.
I realized that I've healed. I'm no longer heart broken. I may not have the kind of friends I used to, but I have love. I have devotion. I have people who believe in me and respect me. Friends, students, mentors, God. I'm whole again, in a way that I never thought I could be.
Near the end of the week, ideas began to flood my mind, the way they used to, when life itself and writing were my only outlets. I couldn't turn them off. To my surprise, the first slew of ideas were about that series I couldn't get back; about my metrognomes. I fell in love with the story again. I started taking notes, adding new ideas to the old, remembering little details I'd included in the first book that I'd forgotten, seeing how it would all tie together. I became passionate about this story, the way I was when I first started writing it. I wept over scenes, as I outlined them, feeling the emotions of the characters. I came back to life as a writer, and I knew that I could be the unfrightened, outspoken social activist, writing my books, sharing my ideas again, and I would be a better youth worker for it. I've always been outspoken about my feelings on social issues with my youth, but I haven't let them see me living what I feel. I haven't let them see me risking myself for truth and justice. So now I will write these books and stories I've been holding back. I won't fear the questions they may raise. I will speak out for their messages, and for myself, and for my youth group.
I knew I'd truly become that writer again last night, when a story, fully developed, popped into my head and wouldn't grant me any peace until I got up and started writing, so I did. I wrote pages and pages. This used to happen frequently, when I let my mind be open to whatever would come. It's a weird, creepy, demented story, like the ones I used to write...and I'm not afraid to write it.
I'm ready to embrace you again, World; The new me, who is the unapologetic culmination of all my gifts. My eyes are on you, and through my words and my actions, I will be a voice and an example that calls you out on your every injustice.
I've fallen back in love with life.
I've spent the past week getting away from it all, before the summer starts. As a youth program director, my summers are non-stop, and I knew I needed the time to catch my breath in order to make it through the next three months of my extremely cool life.
Over the course of the week, I took time to pray and seek direction. Too often, I think, we all lose sight of where we should be going, because where we are doesn't allow us the time to step back and view our lives from a distance. I've felt a strong pull in so many directions lately, and it's been nothing less than overwhelmingly emotional and confusing. I rediscovered myself this week.
I've been touched by so much anger lately. Anger at Christians who don't act like they should, mostly. Anger over homophobia. I read new things almost daily about people spreading their agendas of hatred and intolerance throughout the world. It makes me sick. I've felt like I needed to do more, but haven't know just exactly how to do it.
I remembered, this week, how outspoken I used to be, before I started working for the church in 2005. I was so much bolder, unwilling to be cowed by the hateful, frightened ignorance of people who obviously didn't know what they were talking about. I actually got my job at the church by facing down homophobia, not letting them get away with a bigoted decision that would only hurt the youth of our church.
So what happened? I let the church push me down. For fear of losing my job and my ability to be there, doing what I do for our teenagers, I stopped speaking out as fervently. I stopped announcing my presence in the world, so to speak. I stopped writing.
This week, I had a chance to see all of that for what it was. All I've really published since taking the youth director job at White Rock have been a book I'd already finished writing, one short story, and a whole slew of weird haikus. I see now that by letting myself be silenced at work, I simply went silent. My writing was always bold, delivering balls-out messages about my opinions, my faith, acceptance of others, and the power of diversity. The stories in my head in recent years were no different, but I couldn't put myself out there like I used to. I knew that if I did, I risked everything. I already have to tell parents, "Don't let your sons or daughters read my first two books. I was in a different place when I wrote them." Subconsciously, the whole idea of saving my job has been stifling me as an artist with something to say.
But that's not the only thing I've been carrying for the past five years. When I wrote my latest book, I was all excited to write the next four books in the series. The story is about the power of diversity, of course, but it's also about the power of friendship. Shortly after I finished the first book, I lost my closest friends.
I could never get back into the story like I had been. I lost the feel of it. I couldn't relate to the main characters anymore. Relationships are everything to me, and I put so much from my relationships into my writing. When my most powerful friendships broke, they took my heart with them. I struggled through a deep depression for most of those five years. I felt alone, unlovable. I wondered if I'd ever find the sorts of friendships I'd had again. Now that I'm thinking more clearly, I'd say that I hope not. Those friendships broke, because the people on the other end gave up on themselves, and left me to my own devices. One of them even left the state. How does one write a believable saga of friendship, when he no longer believes in it?
I'm still in contact with both of those old friends. I never see the one in California, but we talk sometimes, briefly, on the phone. Never do we venture anywhere near the closeness we once shared. The other friend, I've reconciled with. We talk on the phone and even get together on occasion. I'm learning about the new person she's become, now that she's confronted her inner demons and healed from the path she took before, and I'm enjoying it. Still, neither one of them is an every day friend anymore. They can't be. Life pulls us all along, and our individual paths tend to separate us from people, even if we do stay friends. It's no one's fault. If we stayed where we were when we were in our late teens and early twenties, we'd get stale, never grow. We'd die, at least as far as the parts of us with anything worth while to contribute to the world are concerned.
This week, I found myself again. I hadn't even realized that I wasn't broken anymore. The busyness of my schedule just hadn't allowed for enough self-analyzation. I realized who I needed to be from here on out. I need to be that bold writer again, with something to say. I need to be outspoken again, to refuse to be silenced. I also need to keep being the youth director. I need to keep doing what I can to guide and encourage our youth. These are both incredible gifts to me from God, these skills, my courage, my way with words. I must never again let one set of gifts snuff out another.
I realized that I've healed. I'm no longer heart broken. I may not have the kind of friends I used to, but I have love. I have devotion. I have people who believe in me and respect me. Friends, students, mentors, God. I'm whole again, in a way that I never thought I could be.
Near the end of the week, ideas began to flood my mind, the way they used to, when life itself and writing were my only outlets. I couldn't turn them off. To my surprise, the first slew of ideas were about that series I couldn't get back; about my metrognomes. I fell in love with the story again. I started taking notes, adding new ideas to the old, remembering little details I'd included in the first book that I'd forgotten, seeing how it would all tie together. I became passionate about this story, the way I was when I first started writing it. I wept over scenes, as I outlined them, feeling the emotions of the characters. I came back to life as a writer, and I knew that I could be the unfrightened, outspoken social activist, writing my books, sharing my ideas again, and I would be a better youth worker for it. I've always been outspoken about my feelings on social issues with my youth, but I haven't let them see me living what I feel. I haven't let them see me risking myself for truth and justice. So now I will write these books and stories I've been holding back. I won't fear the questions they may raise. I will speak out for their messages, and for myself, and for my youth group.
I knew I'd truly become that writer again last night, when a story, fully developed, popped into my head and wouldn't grant me any peace until I got up and started writing, so I did. I wrote pages and pages. This used to happen frequently, when I let my mind be open to whatever would come. It's a weird, creepy, demented story, like the ones I used to write...and I'm not afraid to write it.
I'm ready to embrace you again, World; The new me, who is the unapologetic culmination of all my gifts. My eyes are on you, and through my words and my actions, I will be a voice and an example that calls you out on your every injustice.
I've fallen back in love with life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
